


Put me through some changes, Lord, sort of like a Waring blender

by Anathema Device (notowned)



Series: Stick it in a blender [1]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Grief, M/M, possible suicide attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-06
Updated: 2016-10-06
Packaged: 2018-08-19 20:56:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 27,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8224579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notowned/pseuds/Anathema%20Device
Summary: Aramis wants to shake up his friendship with Athos, which has stalled in a bad place. He puts a profile up on a dating site, but couldn't have predicted all that happens afterwards





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This started off in my head as a light hearted idea mocking the kind of profile Athos would put up for himself [on a dating site](http://chrispy8.tumblr.com/post/145361502758/im-a-newer-fan-of-mr-b-and-i-really-love-how), which Aramis has to 'fix'. Unfortunately I got masses of angst and wallowing instead, sorry :)

“Look, Athos, what have you got to lose?”

“Twenty minutes of my life I won’t get back in addition to the hours and hours I’ve wasted talking to you about this.”

Athos got up from his desk and sat down on the sofa, new book in hand, not looking at Aramis or his laptop, sending the clearest possible message that he was _not_ going to give in on this now or ever.

“You won’t even try it?”

“I won’t even. You do it for yourself if you think it’s such a good idea.”

“But I meet people all the time!”

Athos looked at Aramis over his reading glasses. “Meet, yes. Shag, yes. Have relationships with, no. We won’t count the two accidental pregnancies either.”

“Bitch.” Athos rolled his eyes and went back to his book. “Will you let me set one up for you?”

“Will you talk to them as well?”

“Yes?”

“And date them?”

“Doesn’t that rather defeat the purpose?”

Without looking up, Athos said, “You want me to find someone to be in a relationship with. Why not test drive them for me?”

“And how exactly do I explain to the suitable party that it’s not me they’ll be seeing?”

“I thought it happened all the time. It’s called icefishing or something.”

“Catfishing and no, it’s not the norm. You’re being a shit about this.”

“And you’re a bloody nuisance. If I weren’t so fond of you, I’d have shot you three years ago. Give it a rest.”

Aramis resisted the temptation to throw one of the bananas in the fruit basket that were going brown at his friend’s head. If he did, he knew Athos would just throw it back—peeled and in pieces—and complain about the mess, so there was no point.

He pulled up his own laptop, but didn’t open the site he’d planned to look at. What if he _did_ set up a profile for Athos? It would have to be better than anything the man could come up with on his own. Aramis could see it now:

\--------------------------------

_INTRODUCTION_

_I am a moody sod still getting over my dead wife and I don’t date because I don’t want to end up in a relationship with someone like her again. I don’t talk a lot. Stupid people bore me. I’ll assume you’re an idiot until you open your mouth and prove it. My best quality is my intelligence, and my worst quality is a tendency to alcohol abuse. Marvin the Paranoid Android was an optimist._

_GENERAL DETAILS_

_Age - none of your fucking business_

_Sex - Male_

_Sexuality - It’s complicated_

_Relationship - WIDOWED, OKAY? I DON’T WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT_

_Ethnic Origins - White_

_Location - Paris, Île-de-France, France_

_APPEARANCE_

_Body Shape            Skinny_

_Height - 5’10" (178 cm)_

_Eye Colour - Green_

_Hair Colour - Brown_

_Tattoos            None, because I think they’re juvenile_

_Piercings            None, what did I just say about tattoos?_

_CHARACTERISTICS_

_Moody, Introverted, Antisocial, Arrogant, Picky_

\--------------------------------

And sad, Aramis thought, whatever Athos said about being an introvert and not needing friends. He’d had a social life of sorts in the army—they both had—but a roadside bomb had put paid to their careers and too many of their friends. Athos had lost a leg, Aramis a hand, both suffered severe internal injuries, and both had had to leave the army. Athos was in denial about his mental issues, and Aramis was still working on his. The only reason Athos had offered to share his flat with him was because Athos’s parents still blamed him over his marriage and the death of his brother and he couldn’t turn to anyone else for companionship. And the only reason Aramis had agreed was that he was scared to lose the only friend he had left to alcohol poisoning.

It had been a year since the bomb. A year and two months since Athos’s wife had died in a murder suicide carried out by his brother, with whom she’d been having an affair. Not all of Athos’s issues were about his injuries. The loss of his wife and brother had damaged him a lot more than losing his leg.

Aramis opened up the gay dating site and looked at it again. What was the worst that could happen? Athos wouldn’t find someone this way? There were lots of sites to try, even if he only stuck to gay male ones because Athos’s PTSD would never cope with another woman in his life. Why not give it a go?

He created a new email account for the purpose, and filled out the details as easily as Athos would have done himself. After all, there wasn’t a single part of the man’s life Aramis hadn’t had laid open to him over their fifteen year friendship, or any part of his own that Athos didn’t know—it made their thankfully rare fights unusually vicious. No one could hurt him like Athos could.

He took his time. Athos wasn’t paying the slightest attention, and even if he worked out what Aramis was doing, wouldn’t care. He would assume no one would be interested in him, so there was no point in stressing about the profile. He created the username ‘le_petit_comte’ which had been Athos’s nickname—one of the more polite ones—in the army. (Sometimes Aramis called him ‘le petit con’ when he was angry at Athos, but never in front of the men. That was against their personal rules.)

The hardest part was to write an introduction that was truthful, but flattering. Athos had many good qualities, but they now were buried under such an avalanche of attitude, it would need heat-seeking equipment to detect any life under it all. Aramis spent over an hour on it, finally coming up with a couple of paragraphs that described his best friend as he could be at his finest, even if Athos barely spent any time at those lofty heights any more. Then he submitted the profile and crossed the fingers on his remaining hand.

*************************

Aramis checked the first flurry of replies as Athos cooked supper. Athos couldn’t cook, but neither could Aramis, and it was Athos’s turn to reheat the ready meals. Either way it meant a bottle of wine was opened and mostly consumed by Athos, although this was an improvement over the bottles of vodka and multiple bottles of wine Athos was drinking a day until six months ago. Putting himself into the hospital over alcohol poisoning for the second time, and having Aramis threaten to have him involuntarily committed to dry out, shocked him enough to cut down. Right down. Aramis wished it was no more than a glass a day but he’d take what improvement he could get, and by previous standards, Athos was practically teetotal.

The replies were uninspired and uninspiring, and Aramis wouldn’t set Athos up with anyone he wouldn’t date himself, if only because there was a chance he’d end up spending time with the bloke too. But then after they’d eaten, another reply came through while Aramis was packing the dishwasher. He checked the profile.

“Hello, this one looks nice.”

Athos, back on the sofa with his book and a glass of wine in his hand, ignored him.

“Thirty-three, police officer, handsome as hell, likes good company and walks in the park.”

“Fine, go out with him.”

“Athos, look at him.” Aramis put his phone under his friend’s nose. “He’s lovely.”

“Then why is he single?”

“You could ask him.”

“You ask him.”

“Athos—”

Athos looked up at him, his green eyes frigid. “This is your idea. I do not want another relationship with anyone, male or female.”

“What if something happens to me? You’d be completely alone.”

He’d already returned to his book, and answered without looking up again. “Good. You’re a pain in the arse.”

Aramis stepped back, shocked at such venom coming out of nowhere. “All right. I’ll go out with him. It’d serve you right if we clicked and I left you for good.”

“Fine.”

Aramis clenched his jaw and went to his room, where he sent an answer to this ‘Porthos’ (probably a nickname). Twenty minutes later, he’d set up a meeting for the following day, coffee at a café near the Parc des Buttes Chaumonts. Aramis would explain about the discrepancy between him and the profile at the time. If the guy baulked, well, so be it.

Maybe he should leave Athos to himself. God alone knew that Aramis wasn’t making his mood any better. Beyond him reducing his alcohol intake, Athos hadn’t improved in attitude or mood for months. He was stuck at permanently sour, which was so not like the man he had been when Aramis knew him as a young captain, all solemn smiles and the occasionally surprising laugh, with a sneaky sense of humour, and a hand readily offered to help any young recruit or a fellow officer. He’d been _fun_. Not idiotic or rash, but a joy to be with and to fight alongside.

 _This_ guy, the one Aramis still called his friend, was none of that. He never smiled, let alone laughed, and took offence at the stupidest things. All he wanted to do was sit on his arse all day, read, and drink. If he could spend his life inside one of those Japanese pod hotel rooms, taking his nourishment intravenously, he probably would. Athos acted like he was already dead, only his body hadn’t caught up.

Aramis wasn’t ready to grieve for him, but he didn’t know if he could take this version of Athos much longer. He just wished something— _anything_ —would shake him up, shake him out of it. But nothing Athos was willing to try, which wasn’t much, had worked. Aramis thought new friends might do it, but Athos wouldn’t even make the first move towards meeting someone.

He read a bit then took off his prosthesis so he could shower. He hadn’t put anything on ‘Athos’s’ profile about his injury, figuring that it could be mentioned if and when they met him. If a bloke objected, then that was a good way of weeding out arseholes from the start. Aramis counted himself lucky. At least he’d survived the IED. At least he could walk, and hadn’t suffered a permanent brain injury. Things could have been so much worse, something Athos didn’t seem to understand.

Aramis took valium to sleep. He tried not to, but he already knew he wouldn’t sleep at all without it. He never could after a row with Athos, although this one had been brief and hardly hurtful at all by previous experience. Aramis had asked for it, he knew that. He’d still find himself staring at the ceiling, his head filled with ugly images and hateful thoughts, until it was time to escape the prison his bed had become.

Next morning, Athos wasn’t up by the time Aramis was ready to leave to meet Porthos at eleven. He left him a note, even though Athos would know where he’d gone. It was just something he did, to remind Athos there were two people in the flat, and at least one of them cared what happened to him. Then Aramis headed out to the café.

On a cold, drizzly day, there wasn’t a lot of temptation for Parisians to go out, so the café was mostly empty. Aramis sat by the window and looked for his ‘date’. Right on time, a handsome black man walked in, looked around, and saw no one who looked like Athos.

Aramis waved. “Porthos?”

Porthos’s eyes crinkled in confusion. “Athos?”

Aramis asked him to sit. The waiter came over and Aramis asked for a coffee, Porthos asking for tea while looking at Aramis with narrowed eyes. When the waiter left, Porthos folded his arms. “Who the hell are you?”

Aramis held out his real hand. “Aramis. Athos’s best friend.”

Porthos ignored the gesture. “Uh huh.”

“I guess I should explain?”

“That’d be nice. I don’t like being lied to.” And his tone made it clear that him not liking something could lead to hurt for the person making him unhappy.

“The profile is really for Athos, but I made it. He told me to,” Aramis added hastily, when Porthos’s brow became thunderous with displeasure. “I wanted him to find a nice guy. But when I showed him your profile, he refused to respond and told me to. Which I did.”

“You do this kind of thing often?”

“No. Never have. I hoped I could throw myself on your mercy. So...I’m Aramis Herblay, I’m three years older than him, a vet like him, but unlike him, I’m willing to take a risk meeting someone new.”

Porthos pursed his lips. “You weren’t lying when we chatted?”

“Not a word of it. I understand you’re disappointed because Athos is much more handsome than me—” Porthos snorted. “Ah, you don’t agree?”

“You know you’re good-looking, unless you’ve got two glass eyes.”

Aramis flushed with pleasure. “Thank you. You’re damn beautiful yourself.”

“Yeah, I know.” Porthos smiled for the first time, and Aramis’s knees went weak. “So, tell me about yourself, Aramis. A veteran, you say? Which brigade?”

“You’re ex-military?”

“Yeah. Got out two years ago and joined the police. I was working in Afghanistan. I was just tired of war.”

“We were in the 6th Light Armoured Division. He was my major. A year ago, our vehicle hit an IED near Kandahar. Athos lost a leg.”

“And you lost your hand there?”

Aramis had made a particular effort not to flash his prosthetic hand around, and it was skinned quite realistically. “Yes. Others in our unit were killed. We were lucky.”

“Lucky,” Porthos said with a grunt. “Not so much, I think. How long did you serve?”

“Fifteen years. I met Athos at his first posting. I trained as a medic, he’d just graduated from St Cyr.”

“Best friend. Only friend?”

“No. I mean, he’s not mine. I’m his.”

“Doesn’t sound healthy.”

Aramis sighed. “Tell me about it.”

Porthos dropped his voice. “I’d rather talk about you.”

Aramis flushed again, his body reacting as it hadn’t in far too long to a handsome man. Or anyone, really. “Wh...what do you want to know?”

“Start with why a cute guy like you is single.”

Aramis laughed wryly. “That’s what Athos wanted to know about you.”

“Come on, then.”

For once, Aramis was stuck for words. He didn’t know the reason himself. Even Athos thought of him as a man slut, Aramis had not had sex since he’d been injured. He hadn’t even looked for it.

“It’s him, isn’t it?” Porthos asked. “Your mate. Are you in love with him?”

“Athos? God, no. He was married before...and after, neither of us were in a fit state.”

“So you’ve thought about it.”

“Thought, yeah. He’s hot, but I’m not in love with him.”

“Funny, when all you do is talk about him.” Porthos’s tone wasn’t accusing, but those sharp brown eyes saw more than Aramis was comfortable with.

“I guess we’re a little too wrapped up in each other. Hence the....” He made a ‘you and me’ gesture between them. “I was hoping he would make friends. “

“Instead you’re here. How’s he gonna feel about it if you turn up with a boyfriend? Or even just another good friend?”

Aramis stuck out his chin. “He can like it or lump it. I’m not becoming a monk because of him.”

“Good.” Porthos smiled again, the effect on Aramis like seeing a perfect sunrise. “So, what are you doing with yourself now?”

Aramis described the laborious process of rehab that both of them had gone through, then settling back into civilian life. How Athos’s depression and alcoholic despair had derailed Aramis’s attempt to retrain as a sexual health counsellor, which he’d now delayed until the new academic year. “But he’s doing much better now. There’s room for improvement, but I’m hoping he can do that.”

“Then you can get on with your own life.”

“Yeah, hopefully. But I don’t resent helping him. I owe him my life ten times over.”

“But saving his life at the cost of your own—how many times do you do that?”

“Never, I hope. I’m looking forward to the course, and going back to work. I miss caring for people.”

“More than one person, you mean.”

Aramis grinned. “That too.”

Porthos smiled back, then looked at his watch and swore quietly. “Listen, I have to go to work at one o’clock or I’d ask you out for dinner. You free tomorrow?”

“I’ll have to check my packed social calendar but I think I can squeeze you in.”

“Great. Let me have your number.” They exchanged details. “So I should head off. But I have a good friend who’s just been dumped by his girlfriend who you might like to meet. He’s a nice guy, another cop. Works with me.”

Aramis raised an eyebrow. “Is this your subtle way of telling me you’re not actually into me?”

Porthos shook his head. “No, you idiot. It’s my way of saying you might make friends with him.”

“Then I’d like to meet him.”

“Cool. Okay, I’ll book dinner somewhere and let you know where to meet. And, Aramis—Athos is an adult. You can’t baby him forever.”

“Trust me, I know.” But did _Athos_ believe their lives couldn’t go on like this? Aramis had to find out. Porthos stood and Aramis, rising also, risked a quick peck on his cheek. “I really enjoyed meeting you. I want to get to know you better.”

“Me too. Next time, let’s make it about you, okay?”

“Okay.”

He took the long way home, even though the weather remained vile. He bought two filled baguettes for their lunch, and when he walked in, he called out, “Food’s up.”

No answer. He dumped the food and took off his coat, then picked up the rolls and went to the kitchen. There he found Athos, head on the table, hand still wrapped around a bottle of vodka. “Shit. Athos, why?” He shook his friend. “Athos?”

“Leave me ‘lone.”

“No chance.” Aramis grabbed the bottle and emptied it down the sink, then looked in the cupboards for any others. Nothing in the bedroom either, fortunately. He filled a glass with water and returned to his drunken friend. “Drink this.”

“No.”

“Athos, you _promised_.”

Athos lifted his head. “You _left_.”

“You told me to leave! I only went out for coffee.”

Athos put his head down again. Aramis shook him. “You need to take this and some vitamin B.” Getting no response, he found the soluble vitamins and put one in the glass. When it dissolved he shoved Athos back on the chair and held the glass to his lips. “Drink it, or I’m going to call an ambulance and tell them this is a suicide attempt. Which it is, if you ask me.” He seriously contemplated calling them anyway.

Athos grabbed the glass and drank the liquid in one long swallow, then slammed the glass down before laying his forehead on the table again. “There. Happy?” he asked the floor.

“No.” Aramis sat down and took his friend’s hand. “Why? I was gone all of two hours.”

“Because...because I was shitty to you and you left. To meet someone.”

“You’re shitty to me all the time and I never leave you.”

“You should. I'm bad for you.”

“No you’re not.”

“Bad for everyone.”

Aramis sighed, putting his hand on Athos’s head and stroking his hair. “No, you’re not. This is about Anne again, isn’t it?”

“Thomas. Anne. Our men. They’re all dead.”

“Not because of you. We’ve been over this, Athos. Over and over it. I’m sick of telling you the same thing.”

Athos got up and stumbled off to the bathroom. Aramis heard him retching, which would at least remove some of the alcohol from his stomach. He didn’t attempt to help him. Athos wouldn’t appreciate it.

He couldn’t go through this again. Watching Athos come so close to dying by his own hand the first time was terrifying. Watching it happen after Athos had reached a kind of equilibrium, however miserable, was intolerable.

He made a decision, and acted before he changed his mind. He went to his room, found his old duffle bag and stuffed a couple of changes of clothing into it. He found his passport and other essential documents, and packed them with his laptop into the bag. A spare pair of shoes, his hand’s charger, toiletries and medication, and that was it.

He slung the bag over his shoulder and went out into the living room. Athos stood there, bleary eyed and swaying. “Where are you going?” His voice was hoarse from vomiting.

“I’m leaving. I can’t handle this...thing you’re doing. Not again. I can’t watch. I’m sorry.”

Aramis picked up his lunch from the kitchen counter and headed to the door. Athos didn’t try to stop him. Aramis was a little disappointed, but not surprised. Admitting he needed anything more than booze or pills wasn’t Athos’s way. Help had to be shoved down his throat before he’d accept it.

Well, not this time. Aramis couldn’t help Athos, but he could help himself. Time to make a change.


	2. Chapter 2

Out on the street, Aramis stopped because he was breathing so hard he was on the verge of passing out. Not quite a panic attack, but close enough. “I guess we really are co-dependent,” he murmured, leaning on a lamppost until his vision stopped sparkling. But he wasn’t going back. Athos didn’t want his help, and until he did, Aramis could do nothing for him.

He had to find a place to live. He could fly to Madrid and sleep on Rosalita’s couch—she would be glad to see him. What did he have in Paris, after all? One friend, busily drinking himself to death. A few army colleagues he didn’t keep in touch with.

And Porthos. Someone he’d spent less than half an hour with.

He wiped his eyes and looked at his phone. No message from Athos, of course. Beneath his dignity. But he had Porthos’s number. The guy was at work, so Aramis couldn’t call him, but he could message. What harm would it do to ask?

_Walked out on Athos. He’s drinking again. Don’t suppose you have a couch spare for the night?_

He could wait a few hours. No answer, or a negative one, then he’d fly south, admit to his family he’d failed.

He caught a bus in to the city and walked to Les Halles where he wandered around, drank coffee and sat watching people for a couple of hours. Or at least pretended to people watch. Really he was lost in his thoughts, worrying about whether he’d abandoned Athos to a lonely death from alcoholic poisoning. Maybe he should call him. But if he did, Athos would think that he could pull this stunt every time Aramis tried to have a life of his own.

Maybe he should call Sylvie.

He tried their former counsellor’s number and was sent to voicemail, so he left a message. She called back five minutes later. “Aramis, are you all right?”

“It’s not me, it’s Athos.”

“I know. I want to know how _you_ are.”

“Um...upset? Angry? I’m getting out of there, Sylvie. I can’t go through this again.”

“I know, love. Have you got a safe place to go?”

“I have a couple of options. I’m okay. But Athos—”

“I’ll call him. Let me know where you’re staying, and if you need anything.”

“Thanks.”

“And Aramis? You did the right thing.”

“I hope so. Let me know what you find out.”

He took a deep breath and another one. His eyes filled with tears again, but this time, with relief. He didn’t have to do this on his own.

A message came through, from Porthos. _Call me._ So Aramis dialled his number. “Hey,” Porthos said. “I have a few minutes free.”

“I’m sorry to bother you—”

“Don’t be. I’m glad you got out. About the couch—I won’t be home until nearly midnight, but my mate, the one I told you about? D’Artagnan, Charles d’Artagnan. He had a room spare, and definitely has a couch. He’ll be home at six. So you can stay with him and I’ll come over in the morning and we can talk, okay?”

“Really? That’s very kind of both of you.”

“Anything for a brother in arms, mate. I’ll text you his address and number. He said to drop over anytime after six. Maybe make it six-thirty. Will you be okay until then?”

“I’ll be fine. Thank you.”

“See you tomorrow. Aramis, you did the right thing.”

“I hope so. It feels wrong but...I had to.”

“You did. Be strong. I gotta go.”

“Thank you. _Ciao_.”

The message with details of d’Artagnan’s apartment in the seventeenth arrondissement was already waiting for him. All Aramis had to do was kill a few hours until six-thirty. Even a single night somewhere safe, somewhere away from Athos, would be good.

He was outside d’Artagnan’s apartment building by six twenty-five, so he risked using the intercom. “Hello?”

“Aramis Herblay? Porthos’s friend, for Charles d’Artagnan.”

“Yeah, I’m expecting you. Come up.”

He went to the third floor, and found the door of d’Artagnan’s apartment open. As he approached, a young, astonishingly good-looking guy came to the doorway and grinned at him. “Aramis?”

“Charles?” Aramis held out his hand.

The kid shook it. “Call me d’Artagnan, please. Only my mum calls me Charles. Come in. You look wrecked.”

Aramis felt wrecked. It had been a long, miserable day. The apartment was warm, simply furnished but with bright paintings and a few drawings in frames on the walls. “Have a seat. Have you eaten? I was going to cook for us.”

“No, I haven’t, and that’s very kind. I didn’t think to bring anything, sorry.”

“No problem. I don’t drink much anyway. Take your coat off, relax.” D’Artagnan walked into the kitchen and stood at the counter. Just as in Athos’s apartment, there was a wide hatch between that room and the living room, so he could keep working on the meal while Aramis talked to him.

“Thanks. I really appreciate you taking a stranger in like this.” Aramis hung up his coat on the rack by the door.

“Porthos vouched for you, that’s good enough for me.”

“Uh, did he mention he only met me this morning?”

D’Artagnan grinned. “Yep. Still no problem. Porthos is good at judging character. Do you want some coffee? Tea?”

“Tea would be good. Or just water. I don’t want to be a bother.”

“You’re not. Glad of the company, to tell the truth.”

Aramis remembered that Porthos said d’Artagnan was nursing a broken heart. “You live here alone?”

“Yeah, though I’ve been thinking of renting out the second room. I don’t really need the rent, but it gets a bit lonely here sometimes. If you’re interested, we can work something out, but that’s not why I said it was okay to come over.”

“No, I understand. I...don’t really know what I’m doing right now.” He pushed his fingers through his hair. “Last thing I planned to do when I woke up this morning was moving house.”

“Rough living with an alcoholic?”

“You have no idea.”

D’Artagnan nodded. “Addicts are hard.”

“He’s not an addict. He’s got a lot of stuff to work through, that’s all.”

“He hits a bump in the road and the first thing he does is turn to the bottle. He’s an addict.”

“He has poor coping strategies. You don’t know him.”

D’Artagnan’s handsome mouth twisted. “No. But I see a lot of people like him in my job. You can’t fix him if he won’t help himself.”

“That much I do know, d’Artagnan. I’m a nurse. I’m not naïve.”

“Sorry.” As he spoke, d’Artagnan was busy making a little pot of tea for him. “Milk? Sugar?”

“Milk is fine. I appreciate the concern. It’s just...I spent fifteen years beside him in the army. We’ve always been there for each other. He was completely different before the bomb.”

“Porthos mentioned that. Here, take this.”

Aramis used his prosthetic hand to grab the mug, and d’Artagnan’s eyes widened. “That is so cool.”

“Has to be good for something. It’s nothing like a real hand.”

“Sorry. It’s just so much more realistic than I thought an artificial hand would be. What else can it do?”

Amused by the curiosity, Aramis ran through the available movements and grips. “But I can’t feel anything like I used to be able to, like I can with my right hand.”

“Still, that’s amazing.”

“Not amazing enough to keep my job, unfortunately.” He picked up the mug of tea and took a sip. “Ah, thank you.”

“You’re welcome. It’s just chicken and pasta for dinner.”

“Sounds wonderful. I can’t cook much at all. More than Athos, but that’s not saying much. We spent too long in the army.”

“You should learn. Make it part of your de-institutionalising.”

Aramis wagged a finger at him. “I’m not institutionalised!”

D’Artagnan held up his hands. “Okay. But learn to cook anyway because you’re an adult and it’s fun.”

“Those are good reasons. And...maybe I am. A little.”

D’Artagnan smiled. “Maybe you are.” He left the kitchen and came to the living room. “Let me show you where you’ll be sleeping.”

It was a neat little room not much smaller than the one in Athos’s place. Aramis didn’t know how long he’d be staying but it was better than a couch. “It’s perfect, thank you.”

“It’s nice to have someone here again.”

Aramis followed his host back into the living room and joined him on the couch. “Ah. The break-up?”

“Yeah. She decided to dump me and her ex-husband and married a Canadian doctor. We’re still friends but....”

“But it’s not enough. I’m sorry. It hurts like hell.”

D’Artagnan looked at him sideways. “Been there?”

“A long time ago. A couple of times, actually. The pain is worse than being shot. But it goes away...eventually.”

“So I hear. I just miss her so much. We were such good friends, and Constance....” He stopped himself. “You so don’t need my sob story.”

“Why not? You’ve had mine. I’m happy to talk if you want to.”

“Not sure I do. Thinking about it....” He drew in a deep breath. “No, not gonna do that. You can help me cook, how about that, Monsieur Bionic Man?”

*************************

Aramis slept better than he thought he would. A pleasant evening with d’Artagnan, a text from Sylvie to say she’d called Athos who sounded sober and apologetic and had promised not to self-harm any further, and a comfortable bed meant Aramis had managed a solid nine hours without bad dreams or harmful rumination. When he woke, d’Artagnan had left for work, a note on the table telling him that Porthos would be over around ten, and to help himself to anything in the fridge or cupboards for breakfast.

He showered and dressed, making tea and toast for his breakfast. He tried Sylvie’s number and got through immediately. “Hey, darling. How are you?”

“I’m safe and well, Sylvie. Athos?”

“Safe, I’m sure. Well...not yet. He’s coming to see me today.”

“He agreed to do that?”

“It was either that or I was going to go over there and read him the riot act. It wasn’t hard to convince him. He’s sorry, for what it’s worth. I don’t think he was thinking too clearly about the drinking.”

Aramis sighed. “I guessed not. But it’s got to stop.”

“Yes, it has. Are you able to stay where you are for a few more nights?”

“I think so. Don’t worry about me. Just fix him, please. I can’t bear to lose him.”

“I’ll do my best. You worry about _you._ And it would be nice to see you and get a sense of where you are in your recovery.”

“Me? I’m—”

“If you say ‘fine’, I will jump through this phone and rip your bloody arms off, Aramis.”

Aramis grinned. “Okay. But I’m well.”

“Come see me and let me be sure, okay?”

“Just let me sort out my living arrangements. I’ll call...and...would you tell Athos that I’m still his friend?”

“I will, and I’m sure he’ll be glad to hear it. If you don’t call, I’ll be angry. You wouldn’t like me when I’m angry.”

“I bet. I promise.”

“Then, have a good day, Aramis. Be safe.”

Not a bad way to start the day. He finished eating and had just cleaned up the mess when the front door opened and in walked Porthos. Aramis stared—Porthos looked even more wonderful than he had the day before. The big guy opened his arms and Aramis walked into the hug. “Thank you,” Aramis said, his eyes filling with emotion.

“You’re welcome.” Porthos’s deep voice rumbled in his chest. “You had me worried when you left yesterday. I wasn’t even surprised when I got your message.” He pushed Aramis back a little so he could look at his face. “You okay?”

“I’m good. So is he.” Aramis drew close again. It had been so, so long since he had felt someone’s warmth, their body, their kindness as a physical thing. “You’ve been so good to me, and you hardly know me.”

“I know enough.” Porthos took his hand and drew him over to the couch. Once they both sat down, Porthos put his hand under Aramis’s chin and kissed him gently. “Wanted to do that yesterday.”

Aramis closed his eyes. “Do it again.” So Porthos did. “You’re lovely.”

“Only as much as you are.” Porthos stroked his cheek. “Are you really all right? That must have been rough.”

Aramis nodded. “It was. I called the psychologist who counselled both of us while we were in rehab...for PTSD and stuff. She called him and he’s seeing her today. I didn’t want to abandon him, but I couldn’t stay.”

“No, you couldn’t. His...whatever it is...was eating you alive. Now he can get help, and you can do what you need to.”

“I don’t even know what to do with myself now. The course doesn’t start until September.”

Porthos tilted Aramis’s face with a finger under his chin. “You can live. Have fun.”

“Learn to cook, d’Artagnan says.”

Porthos laughed. “That kid. He’s always on about his cooking. But he’s good at it.”

“He says I can stay, if I want to.”

“You should. He needs someone around, you need somewhere to live. And I want you somewhere safe.”

“You’re awfully worried about someone you’ve known less than a day.”

“I make my mind up about people pretty fast. You’re one of the good ones, Aramis. I could do with someone like you in my life, as a friend or...more.”

Aramis got that wobbly feeling in his stomach again. “I...uh...feel the same about you.”

“Good. I have the day off. How about you and me get to know each other better? Are you doing anything?”

“Yeah. I’m spending it with you.”

Porthos grinned and kissed him again.

*************************

They went to the Bois de Boulogne, since it wasn’t far from the apartment. Porthos wasn’t kidding about liking long walks in the park, and despite the dank weather, insisted on Aramis wrapping up well and joining him. At least it wasn’t raining, and with Porthos beside him, Aramis felt a warmth suffusing him that the weather could do nothing to cool. Porthos talked about his job, Aramis talked about being a medic. Athos’s name came up a couple of times but Porthos had made it clear that he felt Aramis was too tied up in his friend’s welfare, so Aramis tried not to talk about him.

The conversation turned to why Porthos was currently single. “It’s not a mystery or anything,” Porthos said, amused at Aramis’s question.

“It is to me. I’m surprised we aren’t being trailed by lovestruck men and women desperate to make your acquaintance.”

Porthos grinned, and put his hand on Aramis’s shoulder. “I could say the same about you.”

“Yes, but I have a co-dependent friend and rehab to explain my state.”

“Doesn’t explain why you didn’t have a lover ready to step up when you were hurt.”

“Maybe I did and they ran away.”

“Did they?”

Aramis shook his head. “No. My last relationship was over a year before that. It...ended badly. My fault. She was married.”

“Ouch. Bad choice there, mate.”

“You don’t understand. But I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay.”

Aramis turned to look at him. “What about yours?”

“My last one? Ended two years ago.”

“When you left the army.”

“It’s _why_ I left the army. He...was killed. Sniper fire in Helmund.”

Aramis reached for his hand. “Porthos, I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah, so am I,” Porthos said quietly. “And I don’t want to talk about it either.”

Aramis kept hold of his hand as they walked. At least Anne was still alive. He hadn’t heard otherwise. Her baby too, so he assumed. “She was my commander’s wife. We met a few times. She was Spanish, like my parents, and we used to chat in our mother tongue. It was clear she wasn’t happy in her marriage, and she liked me. Liked me a _lot_. I liked her too, too much. But I behaved myself until.... We were back in Nîmes and I met her in town on her own. She was terribly upset and staying at a hotel in the city. She said she was about to leave her husband, but he didn’t know it yet, that their marriage had been in trouble for years. We were drinking in her room, and I listened to her for hours. It...became physical. Only that one night, but I lost my heart.”

“And then?”

Aramis shrugged. “She went back to her husband, and nine months later, she had a boy with dark hair. Her husband has my colouring, so I have no way of knowing...but I just felt it was probably mine. I only saw her one more time before the IED. She kept her distance, like she was afraid I would destroy what she was rebuilding with her husband. I only wished her the best, but I longed for her. Still do, in a way. I know we can never be together.” He smiled wryly. “It’s nothing like what happened to your lover.”

“No. But it doesn’t matter, does it? Still hurts.”

“Yeah. That’s why I understand about Athos. His wife maybe cheated on him, then died. It was horrible.”

Porthos said nothing, and Aramis felt he’d overstepped the mark. “Sorry. I know you don’t want me to talk about him.”

“It’s not that. I just don’t want you making excuses for his drinking. It doesn’t help him and it keeps you from staying out of his mess.”

“I’m not making excuses. I don’t drink, you don’t drink. There are better ways to cope. I understand the depression behind it, that’s all.”

Porthos put his hand on Aramis’s neck. “That’s okay. I don’t mean to be unkind. I’m just more worried about you.”

“I’m not as fucked up as him.”

Porthos squeezed the muscles at the base of Aramis’s skull, massaged them. “No, but you’re getting that way. Alcoholics are like whirlpools. If you get too close, they suck you down. That’s why I’m so glad you left.”

Aramis wanted to know why Porthos cared so much about an almost total stranger. But Porthos’s concern, his kindness, felt so organic, so central to his being, it was if Aramis became the focus because Porthos couldn’t _not_ care. “I’m getting cold.”

“Can’t have that. Let me feed you.”

Porthos took him to a brasserie inside the park, and not only fed him, but bought him coffee and a glass of brandy at the end of the meal. “Now that’s better. You were looking a bit pale.”

“I feel better, thank you.” Though whether it was the food or the alcohol, or just being around Porthos and his gentle affection, Aramis didn’t know. “What did you want to do this afternoon?”

“I was thinking of maybe taking you back to my place and getting to know you better. If you’d like, I mean.”

Aramis looked at him, his face heating and his heart racing. “I like. I really like.”

Porthos touched Aramis’s chin. “We don’t have to. I don’t want to take advantage of your situation.”

“Porthos, I wanted you from the moment I saw your photo. I’m not a vulnerable teenager.”

“I bloody hope not.” He called for the bill and paid for it. “Let’s take a taxi.”

Porthos’s apartment turned out not to be all that far from d’Artagnan’s place, but only had the one bedroom. “I’m not like d’Artagnan. I don’t need company for company’s sake,” he said when Aramis commented on it. “But I don’t feel like this is the last place I’ll ever live either.”

They sat on the couch, and Porthos put his arm around Aramis. “Athos owns the apartment we live in,” Aramis explained. “I couldn’t afford one in Paris on my army pension. I’m not sure I can afford d’Artagnan’s second room. We didn’t talk about rent.”

“Don’t worry about it for now, okay? Something will turn up.”

Aramis chose not to argue with him, but he knew that ‘something’ often didn’t. He had long grown past the hopeless optimism of youth, but Porthos was younger than him and still believed in it. He leaned in and kissed Porthos’s cheek, then his lips when Porthos turned his head. In no time, Porthos was on his back on the couch and Aramis lay on top of him, kissing him slowly, carefully. It had been such a long time, but Porthos was too beautiful, too generous to rush like cheap fast food. He was a three Michelin star meal, an extravagant treat for a sensual gourmet, which Aramis considered himself to be. He let himself become lost in the taste of Porthos’s mouth, the feel of his strong arms and his warm, powerful body, the scent of his skin, the sound of his rumbling laugh as heard through his chest against Aramis’s own.

“God, you’re lovely,” Aramis whispered against his ear.

“You’re not so horrible either.” Aramis stared into his eyes, mildly affronted. “You’re gorgeous and you know it, Aramis.”

“Do I? I don’t feel gorgeous very often. I’m maimed and I’m unemployed and an emotional wreck.”

Porthos buried his fingers in Aramis’s hair. “You’re beautiful. You’re kind. You’re smart. And you’re driving me out of my mind. Want to take this to the bedroom?”

“I don’t know. I’m liking this so far.” He ground his hips against Porthos, making him moan quietly.

“Are you seriously gonna make me come in my pants?”

“Maybe.”

“Nah.” Porthos surged up and wrapped his body around Aramis, who let himself go limp in the man’s confident grip. “Bedroom. I’ll make it worth your while.”

“Oh well, if you intend to do _that_.”

Porthos kept his arms around Aramis, kissing him and half carrying him to the bedroom which held an enormous bed and not much else. Aramis let Porthos strip him, like he was unwrapping a present. His eyes widened when he saw all the scars. “Jesus, Aramis.”

“Shrapnel and crap,” Aramis said, dismissing months of recovering from multiple surgeries in three words.

“I thought it was just your hand...Athos too?”

“Athos worse. How come you get to ogle me and I can’t see you?”

Porthos smiled, and took off his sweater and shirt. Aramis whistled. “Pretty,” he said, reaching out to touch the hard muscles under satiny skin. When Porthos took off his trousers and underpants, revealed his half-hard cock, Aramis put his hands together as if in prayer. “For what I am about to receive....”

“Idiot.” Porthos lay next to him, stroking his stomach and making Aramis shiver. “What do you want?”

“Everything. It’s been a long time, you’re beautiful, and you can do whatever you want with me.”

Porthos grinned. “All right then.”

*************************

They lay wrapped around each other for hours, kissing and stroking. Aramis felt as if he’d known Porthos for years, something he had never had before with a new lover. Around six, Porthos stirred, tangling his fingers in Aramis’s hair and gently scratching his scalp. “We should get moving,” he murmured.

“I should, at least.”

“No, both of us. D’Artagnan wants us to be there for dinner.”

“Oh. Nice.”

“Yeah. He likes you, he said.”

“Oh, good. I still don’t know if I can afford his room.”

“Don’t worry about it, I said. Want a shower?”

“That’d be lovely.”

“Show me how the hand comes off?”

“I hope you don’t have a kink for amputees.”

“Me? No, I’m just curious. How often do you charge it?”

“Just overnight,” Aramis said, as he removed it from his arm. “Just like that.”

Porthos touched the stump, and Aramis shivered. “Sorry, does it hurt?”

“No. A bit sensitive, but it’s nice. I thought you might be revolted.”

“Give me some credit, Aramis. So you just lost the hand. Lucky, I suppose?”

“From one point of view. The prosthesis gives me a lot more function than I’d have had if they’d managed to preserve the original. Athos is the same. They might have saved his leg but it would have been useless and caused constant pain. He told them to take it off. You’d hardly know he had a false leg unless he told you. So it could have been worse for both of us.”

Porthos lifted Aramis’s arm and kissed the stump, looking up at him with his expressive eyes. “I’m glad it wasn’t.”

Warmth filled Aramis’s chest. He bent to kiss Porthos on the forehead. “You’re lovely.”

“Not so much. Bathroom’s through there. Borrow what you need. Clean towels in the cupboard.”

“Thanks.”

Porthos’s bathroom was as spare and tidy as the rest of the apartment, and his shower gel smelled just like him, so Aramis was delighted to use it so the scent would follow him for the rest of the night.

When he emerged and put his prosthesis back on, Porthos had dressed, changed into a clean shirt but otherwise looking the same as he had the whole day. “Ready?” He held his arm out and Aramis came to him to kiss his lush mouth.

“When you are.”

Porthos hugged him, then went to the door and put his coat on. Aramis followed him out into the chilly evening.

Since they had time, and Porthos loved walking more than anything else in the world, they walked to d’Artagnan’s apartment building, which took them a leisurely half an hour. “Missed this in the army,” Porthos said. “Being able to go where I wanted, when I wanted. Always having to watch my back, watch the environment.”

“Yeah, that sucked. Though I liked that it was hot a lot of the time.”

“That was nice. But not what came with it. Charon hated the heat.” Porthos went quiet for a bit after that.

Before they reached d’Artagnan’s apartment, Aramis had to tell him something. “I spoke to our psychologist this morning. The counsellor who treated the two of us for PTSD and stuff. She’s spoken to Athos, and says he’s sorry. He was supposed to see her this morning. I assume he did. He’s not just wallowing.”

“Good. Now it’s up to him to keep going, isn’t it? How do you feel?”

“I’m glad. Grateful. I don’t feel such a shit for leaving him.”

Porthos squeezed the back of his neck, but said nothing. Aramis trusted he understood the complex emotions Athos’s behaviour had evinced. If not, Aramis wouldn’t burden him with trying again.

Porthos let them into d’Artagnan’s place. “Have you always had a key?” Aramis asked as he took his coat off.

“Since I became friends with him. He doesn’t know anyone else in Paris he trusts. Well, except for Constance and she’s gone to Canada.”

“His girlfriend?”

“Yeah. Bit of a mess. She wanted a clean break. She loved d’Artagnan to bits, but getting out of her marriage was so toxic, I think she leapt at the chance to get away from France altogether. Poor kid was shattered over it.”

“I can imagine.” Compared to Porthos, Athos, and d’Artagnan, Aramis could hardly complain at all about his battered heart. It wasn’t like he and Anne had ever really been a couple. “Is there anything we can do before he gets home.” Porthos reached for him, and Aramis ducked away, laughing. “Not that. In the kitchen. Not _that_ there either. You’re a pervert.”

“Healthy red-blooded man, that’s all.”

“I’m trying to be a good guest and you’re not helping.”

“Unload the dishwasher, I suppose. I’m going down to the supermarket to pick up a couple of bottles of red wine. I’ll be back in ten minutes.”

Aramis did as Porthos suggested, and also put his dirty clothes on in a quick cycle in the washing machine. He would have to go back to Athos’s apartment soon to pick up more clothes. He would have to decide where he wanted to live, as well. He missed Athos’s apartment. He missed Athos, grumpy sod that he was. But this new thing with Porthos was lovely, and Aramis couldn’t see how he could keep that _and_ be Athos’s sole support. It wasn’t right that he tried to be, not any more.

D’Artagnan arrived back before Porthos did. “Hey, Aramis. Did you have a nice day?”

“It was wonderful. Porthos is buying wine. How about you?”

“You know, the usual.”

The man looked tired. “Are you sure you want to cook for us? I hate imposing.”

“You’re not. Cooking is like my yoga. It relaxes me.”

“Okay. Porthos says...you wouldn’t be too unhappy if I rented the room from you. I don’t know what rent you want for it, though.” Athos didn’t charge rent, but Aramis paid for all the groceries, mainly because Athos hated shopping, and contributed to the utilities.

D’Artagnan’s expression brightened. “I really would love you to stay. You’re on a pension, right? So how much can you afford? Like I said, I can afford the rent. It’s the company I want.”

Aramis cautiously named a figure. “I know it’s not much, but—”

“No, that’d be perfect. And I’d cover the power and internet myself.”

“You can’t—”

“I can and I will,” d’Artagnan said, grinning. “Never let it be said I exploited a veteran for gain.”

“No one would say that.”

“Porthos would, but he’d be joking.” The front door opened. “And the devil appears.”

“Talking about me again?” Porthos said, handing d’Artagnan a bag, and giving Aramis a kiss and a hug. “Miss me?”

“Yes.”

D’Artagnan’s eyebrows rose. “Did you two really only just meet?”

“I know what I like,” Porthos said, holding Aramis close. “I can tell he’s good people.”

“It’s the drugs I slipped into his coffee this morning,” Aramis stage-whispered. “Put him under my thrall.” He laughed as Porthos tickled him in revenge. “By the way, d’Artagnan’s just agreed to have me as a tenant, if I want to stay.”

“Perfect,” Porthos said, grinning at them both. “What about your stuff? And Athos?”

“I’ll need to sort it all out.”

“Don’t go back without someone else,” Porthos said.

“He won’t hurt me.”

“No, but he might try to make you stay. D’Artagnan, back me up on this.”

Aramis shook his head. “I don’t need a minder _but_ ,” he said as Porthos drew breath to argue, “I promise not to go over there unless one of you is free. Okay?” He wondered just how pitiful he looked that he had the two of them worried about his safety. Athos wasn’t a thug. If anything, he was the one in need of protection.

“Good. I’ll hold you to that. D’Artagnan, do you need a hand?”

“No, no, you go canoodle with your sweetheart while I slave over a hot stove.” Aramis and Porthos both rolled their eyes at him. “God, that’s creepy,” d’Artagnan said. “You’re already mirroring each other and you’ve known each other a whole _day_.” He wandered into the kitchen and began hauling things out of the fridge.

Porthos guided Aramis over to the couch. “You heard the man. He’s ordered us to make out.”

Aramis willingly obeyed, letting Porthos’s warmth engulf him. It was like he filled a gap in Aramis’s heart that Aramis had never known was there, like he was the missing part that made him whole. Not that he would ever admit this out loud because the thought was ridiculously romantic.

“I feel like I’ve known you my whole life,” Porthos murmured against his ear.

Aramis jerked in surprise. “Me too. Weird, huh.”

“Nah. Right person, right time, that’s all. You’ve never felt this before?”

“No. I wish I had.” Not even with Anne, he thought.

“I did, with Charon. Except with him, I kinda did know him my whole life. Most of it, anyway.” Porthos stroked Aramis’s hair but his eyes were looking inwards.

“How?”

“Foster child system. We both ended up in the same foster home twice, and managed to keep in touch. He was wild to join the army, so I went with him. Couldn’t hack it without him.”

Aramis twisted so he could embrace Porthos and hold him closer. “You lost a brother and a lover. That’s tough.”

“Yeah. Sucks to be me.”

“Don’t belittle what you feel, what you felt.”

“Been through worse, that’s all. Lots of people been through worse. Your mate, for one.”

Aramis didn’t want to talk about Athos now. He kissed Porthos on his eyelids, his mouth, the hollow of his neck. His skin was so warm, his blood so close to the surface Aramis felt the thrum through his lips. Porthos was so relentlessly, powerfully alive.

“So, are you going to eat each other? I won’t bother making this pasta if you are.”

Aramis opened one eye and found d’Artagnan watching them with a sad smile. “Sorry. You did tell us to canoodle.”

“I wasn’t expecting you to be at it for half an hour solid.”

Aramis pulled away from Porthos, who had the grace to look a little sheepish. “Sorry, mate.”

“Don’t apologise. I’m happy for you. It’s nice.”

Porthos got up and went to d’Artagnan, enfolding him in a bear hug and whispering in his ear. D’Artagnan relaxed a little, but Aramis still felt like bad about rubbing his good luck in the man’s face like this. He resolved to be better behaved. Though it was hard to resist Porthos’s touches and his looks and his sly smiles. “Do you want a hand?”

“It’s all done. You can set the table if you like.”

Aramis gladly did so. As they ate, Porthos kept his hands to himself and his expressions demure enough not to test Aramis’s weak control where he was concerned. D’Artagnan asked if he’d heard from Athos. “From his psychologist. She was supposed to be seeing him this morning. I hope he’s okay. I thought I’d call him tomorrow.”

“I’m on days this week,” Porthos said. “Do you want to go over tomorrow evening, collect your stuff?”

It felt a bit like Porthos was rushing him, but Aramis supposed he was only concerned to get Aramis away from a bad situation. The longer he left Athos to stew, the worse seeing him again would go. “Let me speak to the counsellor. I’ll text you and let you know if she agrees it’s a good idea.”

Porthos nodded. Aramis hoped he wasn’t always this controlling. He found it hard to imagine d’Artagnan would put up with a friend who was. Aramis was a grown man, older than Porthos, and not as fucked up as Porthos liked to think. Or maybe he was. Maybe he just did look that much of a mess.

“You could invite him over here,” d’Artagnan said.

“Are you sure? He’s terrible company. He didn’t used to be, but since the bomb....” Since his _wife_ , more correctly. The change had really started then.

“It’d be nice for him. You’re not cutting him out of your life, are you?”

“God, no. Never. He’s my blood brother until I die. Porthos, you understand that, right?”

“I do. I want him to get his shit together, that’s all. Not drag you down so you’re both fucked up.”

“No. I don’t want that. I think...I hope...this has shaken him up.”

“Does that mean you’d go back? Once he’s sober again?” D’Artagnan was trying so hard to sound nonchalant.

“No. I...don’t think I would. Can you give me a week? I’ll pay rent.”

D’Artagnan dismissed that with a wave. “Forget it. You need to make your mind up without any pressure. That means from you either, big guy.” Porthos raised an eyebrow but didn’t protest.

“Thank you,” Aramis said. “He’s lonely, you know. He won’t admit it but he is. But that doesn’t mean I have to live with him. This all started because I wanted him to make new friends, not cling to me as the only one he had.”

“Then that’s a good reason to invite him over. I’m sure if you like him, I’ll like him.”

Aramis wasn’t so sure, but it was worth a try.

Porthos spent a long time kissing Aramis goodnight. “You’re only a short walk away,” Aramis protested with a laugh as Porthos reached for him again. “It’s not like you’re crossing the Atlantic.”

“Yeah but I have to work all day tomorrow. I need something to remember you by.”

Aramis grabbed his lapels and kissed him one more time, tongue and all. Then he pushed him back. “Go before I come in my pants.”

“There’s a washing machine—”

“Porthos, goodnight. I’ll see you tomorrow one way or the other.”

Porthos stroked his cheek. “Have a good day, okay? Go do something nice for yourself.”

“I promise I will.”

Finally Porthos left. The apartment immediately felt colder without him. Aramis sighed and turned around, only to find d’Artagnan watching him. “He makes a hell of an impact on you, doesn’t he?”

“Oh, yes. He’s...a force of nature.”

“Yeah. One of the best people I know, or ever have known. If I’d met him before I’d met Constance, you’d never have got a look in.”

“You’re bi too?” If Aramis had known, and hadn’t met Porthos, he’d have looked at d’Artagnan very differently. The kid was lovely.

“Yeah. But he’s just a good friend, so don’t worry. You already look better, Aramis. You were a bit like a bedraggled puppy last night.”

“Hey.”

D’Artagnan grinned. “Now you’re more like a well-cared for spaniel.”

Aramis tsked. “I’m already rethinking this whole renting from you thing. Cheeky brat.”

“Yep. I have to go to bed. Early shift start tomorrow. Here.” He held out a set of keys on a ring. “Front door, deadlock. Make sure you lock up properly when you leave.”

“Thank you. That was quick.”

“I’m like Porthos. I assess people as trustworthy or not very quickly. Part of being a cop, I suppose. Anyway, goodnight.”

“Goodnight. And thank you for this evening, and everything else.”

“You’re welcome.”

D’Artagnan retreated to his bedroom. Aramis hung out his washing on the dryer d’Artagnan indicated he could use for small loads, then wondered if he wanted to sit up or not. He ended up going to bed. He didn’t wank, but he did stroke himself sleepily thinking about Porthos and his body, his eyes, his kisses. He fell asleep with those on his mind


	3. Chapter 3

“Maybe I should go up first,” Aramis said as he and Porthos walked up the stairs to the second floor. “Sylvie said he was still edgy.”

“That’s why I’m coming up with you.”

“He would _never_ hurt me, Porthos. You don’t know him.”

“No. But I know you and you’re precious to me, so I’m being careful. I’ll be nice, I promise.”

Aramis shook his head. “Be kind instead. Athos is precious to _me_ , whatever you think or whatever he did.”

“I know that, hon.” Porthos squeezed the back of Aramis’s neck in a gesture that was fast becoming the centre of Aramis’s life. From someone else, it might seem dominating, or threatening. From Porthos, it was pure protectiveness.

Though he had keys, Aramis knocked. Athos opened the door so fast Aramis wondered if he’d been sitting beside it. He looked sober, although thoroughly abashed and miserable with it. “Aramis.”

“Athos.” He held his arms out, and Athos almost fell into them. “Hey. How are you doing?” he murmured against Athos’s hair.

“Not so good. I’m so sorry.”

“Apology accepted. Can we come in?”

Athos pulled away. “Who is this?”

“This is Porthos. You missed out on a chance to hook up with a great guy.”

Athos nodded, but without much interest. His eyes were dull, his hair tangled. At least his clothes were clean and he didn’t smell of booze of any kind. He turned, and Aramis followed him inside, Porthos behind him. “Do you want coffee? Tea? I threw out all the alcohol.”

“Tea would be nice. Good for you on the wine and stuff.”

Athos turned to look at him. “I hadn’t realised how bad I’d got. You shouldn’t have had to see that.”

Aramis held Athos by his shoulders. “It was bad, I’m not going to lie. Are you going back to see Sylvie?”

“Yes. Again this week, and twice next week, until she thinks I’m stable. When are you coming home?”

Aramis drew in a breath and smiled. “Make the tea and we’ll talk, okay? Porthos, do you want to sit?”

Porthos took the couch, keeping his eyes on Athos. Athos seemed utterly uninterested in this stranger invading his space, even though in the time Aramis had lived here, no one else had ever come around. Aramis nudged Athos again. “Tea?”

“Okay.”

Aramis sat next to Porthos. “Nice place,” Porthos said.

“Yes. It has three bedrooms too. Bigger than yours or d’Artagnan’s. I don’t think I can leave,” he added in a whisper against Porthos’s neck. “He looks terrible.”

“You said you’d talk. Wait until you hear what he has to say.”

Aramis held Porthos’s hand until Athos returned with a tray and set it down. “Do you take milk and sugar?” Athos asked Porthos.

“Milk’s fine.”

Athos poured and handed the cup and saucer to Porthos, hardly looking at him. Aramis helped himself. Athos didn’t have anything. He sat opposite them on the armchair, holding his hands tightly in front of him, his eyes cast down.

“What did you want to say?” he asked, still looking at his knees.

“I wanted to see how you were doing, mainly.” Porthos nudged him. Aramis’s lips thinned in annoyance. “I, uh, have been offered a room by a friend of Porthos’s.”

Athos’s head came up. “You’re moving out?” he whispered, his eyes wide and scared-looking.

“I’ve been thinking about it.” “Yes, he is.”

Porthos’s words clashed with Aramis’s, and Aramis turned to glare. “You are,” Porthos insisted.

“I haven’t _decided_.”

“Of course you must go,” Athos said, his head down again. “I won’t try to stop you.”

“Athos, I said I hadn’t decided.”

“He said you should go,” Porthos said, straightening up and looking even more impressive. “You know that’s the right thing to do, for both of you.”

Aramis refused to be intimidated. “Do I? Are you going to even let me talk to him about it?”

“He’s trying to guilt you into staying. You can see that.”

Athos looked up again. “I’m not. He’s right. After what happened...he’s right. Aramis, go. Is it...nice?”

“Yeah. D’Artagnan’s a good kid. He wants to meet you.”

Athos shook his head. “Better if I don’t.”

“Then that’s settled,” Porthos said, getting to his feet. “Come on, Aramis, grab your clothes and go.”

“No. In fact, I want _you_ to leave, Porthos.” When Porthos glared, Aramis said, “Go on. This is ridiculous. I appreciate the concern, but you’re not helping.”

Athos stood. “No. Aramis, let him stay. Do what you want to do. Please. You can leave what you can’t take. It’s safe. I won’t touch it. I just want you to be happy.” He slid past Porthos and went to his room, closing the door with a quiet click.

Aramis ran his hand through his hair. “Okay, this is not what I wanted at all. I’m staying here tonight, and I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“This is exactly what I was afraid you were going to do,” Porthos said, frowning at him. “You need to get out.”

“And _I_ need to make sure my friend can cope. Can you please just go?”

“Aramis....”

“Do you need me to ask you a third time? Because that would be a bad look.”

Porthos shook his head and headed for the door. “I’ll call you in the morning.”

“Please do.” Aramis walked over and caught him before he opened the door. “I know you’re worried. Trust me.” He kissed Porthos’s cheek.

“All right. Have a good night. And let d’Artagnan know where you are.”

“I’ll do that now.”

He texted d’Artagnan as soon as the door closed behind Porthos. He didn’t head in after Athos immediately. He stopped and drank his tea and thought about what to do. Sylvie said Athos was contrite but still extremely depressed. She was trying to get him to try antidepressants but he’d refused. Maybe if Aramis could get him to give them a go, there might be a way ahead for all of them.

He put the tea tray in the kitchen, then knocked on Athos’s door. “It’s only me. Porthos has gone. I’m coming in.” If he waited for permission, he suspected he’d wait all night. He entered the bedroom and found it in darkness, except for the street light coming through the windows. He found the bedside light and turned it on. Athos lay on his side, not looking at anything. Aramis sat next to him. “Hey,” he said, putting his hand on Athos’s shoulder. “Sorry about Porthos. He’s been very kind, but he’s a bit overprotective.”

“He has reason to be. Aramis, why don’t you just go? I’ll be all right.”

“No, I don’t think you will be.” He rubbed the shoulder under his hand. “It’s not enough that you stop drinking. I want you to be happy.”

“Not going to happen. Too much shit in my head. You know why.”

“I know. But you can get past that.”

“Why? Who am I bothering, other than you? And you have somewhere better to go now. Go. I want you to.”

Aramis got up, moved to the other side of the bed, and lay down, wrapping his arms around Athos. “You’re not _bothering_ me, Athos. You’re worrying me because I’m your friend. It doesn’t matter where I live. As to why, it’s because you are my friend, and I want my friends to be happy and safe, just as Porthos does. Why won’t you take the antidepressants?”

“Fake happiness. Nothing changes.”

“Yes, it does. You can see things more clearly. Would you try them for a month, just to see?”

Athos shook like a leaf. Aramis hugged him harder. “What are you scared of?”

“Everything. All of it. Being exposed again. Letting someone else in, and them leaving me. Like Anne.”

“Anne was murdered, Athos.”

“She was sleeping with Thomas before that.”

“You don’t know that for sure.”

Athos said nothing. Aramis kept holding onto him, feeling the shaking ease. “Are you eating?”

“A bit. I’m not trying to kill myself. I just have trouble caring about being alive.”

Aramis knew what that felt like. The weeks after the IED went off were bleak and grey in his memory. He hadn’t had all Athos’s extra grief to work through either. “I’m going to ask you two questions, and I want you to be brutally, completely honest with me. Roll over so I can see you.”

Athos obeyed. He’d been crying again.

“Do you really want me to leave or are you trying to say what you think I want?”

“I don’t want you to leave, but you should.”

“Okay. Second question—if I stay, and make you going on antidepressants for a month along with counselling a condition of that, would you agree to that?”

“Would you only stay for me?”

“Maybe not. I like d’Artagnan a lot, but he’s not you. I like Porthos a lot, but he’s not you either. I miss you. But the other day was so not fun.” He leaned up a bit so he could look at Athos properly. “What I’d like would be for you to be happier, more social, for me to stay here and still make new friends. You staying like you are isn’t an option for me. I can’t stay and watch that any more. I’m sorry. I should have pushed you sooner.”

“Not your responsibility.”

“I'm not even going to dignify that with a response, you nitwit.” He scratched his fingers in Athos’s hair. “So how about this? I’ll stay for a week at the very least. You and I are going to see Sylvie together, and your doctor. You will do your best to leave the apartment every day and come for a walk. I want you to meet Porthos again when he’s not worried about me, and d’Artagnan—maybe once the medication has a chance to kick in. If at the end of the week, you’ve given it your best and you still feel horrible, we’ll try something else.”

Athos blinked slowly. “Okay. I hate doing this to you.”

“You’re doing what I want. Ultimately it has to be up to you, and you have to want it, but I think you’re so unwell, you can’t decide what you want with a clear mind. No booze either. Nothing. No more self-medicating.”

“I can’t sleep without it.”

“We can talk to the doctor about that. Athos, you can beat this. I know you don’t want to, but that will change. Do you trust me?”

“With my life. I always did.”

“Then trust me to take charge of you. Is there any food in the fridge?”

“Maybe. I haven’t really looked.”

“I’ll look. If there is, we’ll eat here. If not, we’ll go somewhere...or I’ll bring some back,” he amended seeing the fear in Athos’s eyes. “You stay here, and I’ll sort it out.”

Athos nodded and rolled on his side again. Aramis patted his shoulder and got up. Then he remembered he’d left his hand’s charger at d’Artagnan’s place. He could manage without tonight but then his left hand would be useless to him until he recovered it. It was seven thirty. He decided to make dinner then he’d have to catch a taxi over to d’Artagnan’s place. “Athos, I’ll have to go out after we eat. I left my charger at d’Artagnan’s.”

“Should I come with you?”

Aramis raised his eyebrows in surprise. “If you’d like.”

“Okay.” That was a good sign, wasn’t it? He couldn’t decide. It was more likely that Athos didn’t want to be left alone again, which was fine.

The freezer held enough food for the two of them, but he’d have to go grocery shopping tomorrow. Maybe Athos could be persuaded to come with him. Yes, that was a good idea.

While the food was heating, he texted d’Artagnan again to let him know he would be dropping over. D’Artagnan texted back immediately to say that was fine, and he would be glad to see him.

Athos remained subdued, but his eyes were a little less dead, and he made an effort to clear up after the meal. Everything was hard for him, Aramis got that. Even getting out of bed was a struggle. Aramis couldn’t leave him to deal with it on his own. But Aramis couldn’t deal with Athos on _his_ own, either.

Athos paid for the taxi, brushing aside Aramis’s attempt to pay the driver. “You wouldn’t have to be here if it wasn’t for me,” he said. _Okay, fair enough._

Aramis knocked at d’Artagnan’s place, even though he had a key now. D’Artagnan smiled at them both when he opened the door. “Hey. This must be Athos.”

“Yes, it is. Athos, this is Charles d’Artagnan.” Athos nodded, but said nothing. “May we come in?”

“Sure. You ate already?”

“We did.”

“Shame. You could have stayed for supper. Next time, maybe.”

“I didn’t want to put you to any trouble.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll make some tea. Or would you prefer coffee, Athos?”

Athos cleared his throat. “Tea. Or water. Please don’t go to any trouble.”

“No trouble. Aramis, go get what you want to take, leave what you want. I’m not renting the room out on you.”

“Thank you.” d’Artagnan wandered to the kitchen. “You stay, talk to him,” Aramis said to Athos. “I won’t be long.”

Athos gave him pleading eyes, but Aramis ignored him. Athos would be completely safe with d’Artagnan.

Aramis deliberately took his time, deciding to leave his clean clothes here and packed only his toothbrush, laptop, and the charger. When he returned, d’Artagnan was sitting across from Athos, Athos looking at the floor. “Got what you need?”

“Yes, thank you. I left some clothes here.” He sat down. “I’ve decided to stay with Athos for this week because we’re going to tackle a few things together. I can pay you rent for the room, though. I’d like to have the option of coming back.”

Athos gave Aramis a wounded look, and d’Artagnan, startled, quickly said. “You don’t have to, I already said. If Athos needs you....”

“I already told him to go,” Athos said. “He shouldn’t give up his life for me.”

“I’m not. D’Artagnan, you need company too.”

“I do, but...no, Aramis, I’m not that bad. Come visit any time, both of you. But I’m not charging you rent. I told you, I don’t need the money.”

“Okay. I’ve told Athos I’d like him, us, to get out more, especially once things start improving for him. So coming over would be great. Or you could come to his place? Athos, what do you think of that?”

“If he wants. This is nicer. What do you want?”

“What do _you_ want?” d’Artagnan asked him.

“I don’t care,” Athos said, staring at the floor again.

“Well, that’s no good,” d’Artagnan said. “Are you two busy the day after tomorrow?”

Aramis answered for Athos, since his friend didn’t look like he was going to. “Only in the day time.”

“Then come over for dinner. I love to cook, you know that. Should I ask Porthos?”

Aramis bit his lip. “Um....”

“I’ll leave it open,” d’Artagnan said calmly, picking up the hint. “Athos, will you come for dinner?”

“You don’t have to—”

“But I want to. Please?”

Athos looked up at d’Artagnan’s smiling face. “Okay. If you’re sure.”

“Totally. I’ll get the tea.”

“It’ll be fine,” Aramis murmured to Athos as d’Artagnan went to the kitchen. “Are you okay?”

“Yes. Aramis, he only wants you to be here.”

“Yes, but I want to be with you. You were my friend first, and your need is much greater. Triage basics.”

Athos snorted. Another good sign.

“Here we go.” D’Artagnan set the tray down. “I’m guessing Athos isn’t a sugar in tea kind of person?” He handed over a mug made with just the right amount of milk, and gave another to Aramis.

“Good guess,” Aramis said.

“My superpower. Have a cookie. I made them myself.”

Aramis put his hand over his heart. “You make your own cookies. Forget it, Athos. I’m moving in and marrying d’Artagnan, sorry.”

D’Artagnan laughed. “You really can’t cook, can you?”

“Neither of us. We’re helplessly dependent on prepared meals.”

“Maybe when Athos is feeling better, I’ll teach you both how to cook. Porthos can cook, but he’s a bit lazy about it.”

“I think that’s a great idea. Athos?”

Athos blinked as if waking from sleep. “I, uh...I guess.”

“I’ll take that as a definite maybe,” d’Artagnan said. “Here, Athos. Try one.”

Athos took a cookie, and from the look on his face, found it to his taste. “My mum’s recipe,” d’Artagnan said proudly.

“They’re very good, aren’t they?” Aramis said to Athos.

“Yes, very.”

D’Artagnan beamed. “I’ll make you a box of them to take home next time.” He glanced at the clock. “Um, it’s getting late and I need to go to bed fairly soon. Sorry. Finish your tea though. Aramis, you’ve got all you need?”

“Yes, don’t fret. Thank you for letting me come over so late.”

“I was just sitting around feeling sorry for myself. I’m glad you came over.”

Athos glanced at Aramis at that comment. Aramis would explain later.

They drank up and stood. D’Artagnan gave Aramis a hug. “Dinner, definitely, yeah?”

“I promise.”

“You too, Athos.” To Athos’s obvious shock, d’Artagnan wrapped his arms around him and gave him a hug worthy of Porthos. “You look after yourself, okay? Aramis, you too.”

“I will definitely look after this one. See you on Thursday.”

Aramis put his hand on Athos’s shoulder and led him downstairs. They hailed a taxi and climbed in. “What happened?” Athos asked. “To him.”

“The woman he loved and had asked to marry, who was already in a shitty marriage and trying to escape from it, suddenly accepted a proposal from a Canadian doctor and emigrated. He’s heartbroken.”

“That’s awful.”

“Yeah, poor kid. And Porthos lost his lover, someone he’d known since childhood, in Afghanistan two years ago, which is why he left the army and joined the police. Lots of sad stories out there.”

“You like d’Artagnan.”

“Yes, I do. Do you?”

“He’s very nice. You’d be happier with him.”

“Give it a rest, Athos. You’re stuck with me.” Athos glared. In the circumstances, Aramis was quite pleased about that. “D’Artagnan’s lonely, and needs distraction. If you let him teach you to cook, he’d really enjoy it. I’m going to keep visiting, so you may as well come with me.”

“I’m sure he can find better than me.”

“Not so far.”

Athos glanced at him. Aramis smiled. “You don’t have to be perfect, Athos.”

Athos shrugged. Aramis prayed he would feel better about everything in a couple of weeks. No one should live like that.

Athos took himself to bed as soon as they got back. Aramis put his prosthesis on the charger, then sent a quick text to Porthos. _Going well. Don’t worry._

Seconds later, his phone rang. “Aramis, are you really okay?”

“I’m fine. We talked. He’s agreed to try the antidepressants. And he went with me to d’Artagnan’s this evening. He suggested it. That’s a good sign.”

“Is it? How did it go?”

“Fine. D’Artagnan asked us all to dinner night after next. I didn’t know if you’d feel like coming if he’s there.”

“I’ll be there.” It sounded as if he would force himself to come just to protect Aramis.

“I wish you would give him a chance.”

“I’ve met too many drunks and users not to be sceptical, Aramis. But if he behaves, then we’ll be good.”

“I could meet up with you tomorrow. You could come over here.”

“No thanks. Want to have dinner with me though?”

“How about I meet you after dinner?”

“All right. Text me with the place.”

“Of course. I wish I was with you now.”

“Your choice,” Porthos said grumpily.

“Don’t be like that.”

“Sorry. I was pretty wound up. I was hoping to spend some time with you.”

“Tomorrow. Sleep well.”

“You too.”

Aramis sighed as the call ended. Porthos was lovely. D’Artagnan was lovely. Athos was lovely, when he wasn’t sick. Really, this ought to be a simple problem to solve. Hopefully it would be, eventually.

He woke at eight, and once he’d showered, he roused Athos. Athos looked exhausted, although he washed and dressed readily enough, and answered when Aramis asked what he wanted for breakfast, which he often hadn’t before. Over coffee and croissants, Aramis asked how he’d slept.

“Not well.”

“Hopefully that will improve.”

Athos nodded. “Did you make an appointment with Sylvie?”

“On her system. Also with your doctor. Are you up to this?”

“I can only try. I _will_ try, I promise.”

“I know. You were never a coward, Athos. No one could accuse you of that.”

Athos’s eyes lowered. Aramis wondered what self-hating script that remark had set off.

Sylvie was delighted to see them together, and hugged Aramis enthusiastically, then Athos. “So, are you ready to get to work?” she asked Athos once she’d asked Aramis how he was doing and what his situation was.

“Yes. I want...not to be like this. Aramis wants it. We both want it.”

“That’s what I needed to hear. You can’t do this for anyone else, Athos. It won’t work.”

They discussed the best approach. She wanted to see Athos, and Aramis too, every couple of days, and she recommended he started the antidepressants immediately. “You can expect a few side-effects to begin with, so don’t be alarmed, and don’t give up. Aramis, you need to get as much as sleep and rest as possible too. If you’re going to work together, then you both have to be well-rested and well-fed. Exercise, rest, good food, good company. Take as often as possible.”

“Sounds pleasant.”

She grinned. “It can cure everything but the common cold. So, I’d like to speak to Athos for a few minutes alone, and then I’ll talk to you.”

An hour with Sylvie, half an hour with Athos’s doctor, and by the end of it, Athos was sagging and Aramis was in dire need of coffee. They stopped in a café for sustenance, where Athos took his first dose of the antidepressants. “The list of side-effects are somewhat alarming,” he said, passing the information over to Aramis. “They cause insomnia. I don’t need help in that direction.”

“It should settle down. You’ll just have to put up with it until then. With any luck, the benefits will outweigh the problems.”

Athos sipped his coffee and didn’t comment. “What would you like to do today?” Aramis asked. “What would you _enjoy_?”

“Honestly, I have no idea. It’s been so long since I enjoyed anything.” Athos looked at his coffee cup. “That sounds pathetic, even to me.”

“It’s okay, Athos. You remember what it was like before our stumps were hardened up enough to fit prostheses? Before the wounds healed?” Athos nodded, a little puzzled. “I bet there were plenty of times you thought you would never walk again, that the pain would always been as bad as it was. And yet, now? So you might not be able to imagine being well again, but you just have to trust that one day you _will_ be able to.”

“Yes, I do understand that. But for now, don’t ask me things like ‘what do I want to do?’ because I don’t want to do anything but crawl into bed and hide. I need your help.”

Aramis grinned and clasped his wrist. “Admitting that is a good start. How about we go food shopping in the city? Buy some decent fruit, vegetables we can steam and stuff. Even I can cook steak.”

“Okay. I used to enjoy markets. Anne....”

“Anne?”

“Didn’t. That kind of shopping wasn’t her thing.” He looked down at his cup again.

“You know it’s okay to miss her, don’t you? You need to tell Sylvie about her.”

“I have. I did. But it’s like...this bottomless well of sorrow and anger and...confusion.” He looked up again. “I wish I know what really happened. Did she love Thomas? Did he kill her because she didn’t? The judge found nothing beyond the basic facts. I keep wishing I could ask her. Ask him. I need to know, was there something I could have done? Were there signs of trouble before that I missed?” He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. “I never have any peace, Aramis. Every waking moment is plagued by these questions and memories and thoughts. Wine is the only thing that silences them. Except when I sober up, I hate myself for drinking along with everything else.”

This was more than Athos had ever said before about what was going in his head, and Aramis could have kicked himself for walking out the other night. “Let’s try distraction for now. Keep you busy, give you something else to think about. But you can talk to me.”

“Will you listen, though? You didn’t when I told you I didn’t want a relationship.”

Aramis flushed. “No, I didn’t, and I’m sorry. Although since it brought me Porthos, I’m not _too_ sorry. Yes, I’ll listen. I reserve the right to try and distract you if I think you’re wallowing.”

“Please do.” Athos straightened up. “Tell me about Porthos.”

Aramis doubted Athos really wanted to know, but he took him at his word. “He’s lovely. Very protective, which you saw. Kind, smart. Amazing in bed.”

“You slept with him? Already?”

“Yes? Why not?”

Athos wore a puzzled frown. “Isn’t that a bit fast?”

“I suppose so. On the other hand, it felt right. Haven’t you ever felt like that with someone you’ve met for the first time?”

“Not for a long time.”

“Life is short. If we learned anything from Afghanistan, it has to be that.”

“Yes, it is. I’m glad you’re happy with him. You can bring him back to the apartment. I would never object.”

“I never thought you would.”

“He doesn’t like me.”

Aramis put his hand on Athos’s wrist again. “He doesn’t _know_ you. He saw me just after I’d left the apartment and got a bad impression. He was as worried about me as I was about you. He’ll change his mind.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Does to me.”

“Aramis....” Athos looked at him helplessly. “I can’t change overnight.”

“I’m not expecting you to. Can you not worry about Porthos’s opinion?”

Athos looked down but didn’t answer. Aramis squeezed his wrist. “Ready to try Les Halles?”

“If you like.”

Before all this, Aramis hadn’t been to Les Halles in years. Now it was the second time in almost as many days. Didn’t matter, though. The important thing was to get Athos out of the house, looking at something other than his books or the walls or the torment in his head. They really did need food too, so it wasn’t simply time-wasting, although there were perfectly decent markets and shops in the nineteenth arrondissement where they lived. He kept his hand on Athos as much as he could, because Athos responded to touch much more readily than to words. It had been that which had sparked Aramis’s search for a boyfriend for him. In retrospect, not one of his smarter ideas, even if it had worked out okay for him.

They had no place to be and nothing to do, so they played tourist as much as the real ones. Athos took an interest in the cheeses on offer, so they bought a good selection—so much so that Aramis thought they might have to give some away to d’Artagnan. Aramis suggested chocolates might make a nice gift for the lad too, so they looked around and bought a small box of the best they could find.

“Who’s that for?” Athos asked as Aramis bought an orange almond cake.

“Porthos. He loves cake. I thought I could give it to him when I’m over there again.”

“You’re meeting him this evening?”

“Yes. If you don’t mind. I won’t stay out.”

Athos frowned. “Why not?”

“It’s your first night on the medication. I thought you might like me around.”

“I’ll be fine. I won’t sleep much, but that’s not dangerous.”

“I don’t want to upset you.”

“You won’t. I promise.” Then he smiled. It was the first one Aramis had seen in over a year. “You need to spend time with him.”

“Then I’ll bring breakfast home with me.”

“You’ll probably be back before I’m awake. Or up, at least.”

“Are you really sure?”

“Yes. You don’t even need to have dinner—”

Aramis held up a hand. “No, that’s non-negotiable. I’ll go out after we both eat. We just bought all this food.”

“Okay.”

“And you’ll call me if you’re having problems.”

“I swear.”

Aramis hugged him. “Thank you.”

“You should let him know.”

Over lunch, Aramis did that by text. _Your place around eight?_ , he suggested. _I can spend the night_

_Wow, great! Can’t wait._

“There, all done,” Aramis said, putting his phone away. “But we have all afternoon together.”

“We should get this stuff home. It’s heavy.”

They’d both once been able to carry two hundred kilo packs with ease, but neither of them were at peak fitness, and with Aramis’s hand and Athos’s leg, they were a bit limited. “We can do that, then maybe a walk in the park, or coffee somewhere.” He wanted to keep Athos out of the apartment as long as possible each day. Good for both of them.

Unfortunately rain meant they had to stay in, but Athos said he felt tired so he didn’t mind. Once their purchases were stored away, the two of them went over the medication’s side-effects, and Aramis did some internet research, Athos sitting beside him on the couch, leaning on him. “So, I think we can say you’re going to feel worse before you feel better, at least physically.”

“How wonderful,” Athos said dryly.

“How do you feel now?”

“A bit ick. Very slight stomach upset, tired. Nothing I can’t cope with.”

“Did you enjoy this morning?”

“Yes. But it exhausted me.”

“That’ll change. How’s your leg?”

“I could do with taking it off. You don’t need to nanny me, Aramis.”

Aramis held up a finger. “Actually, I think I do.” He stood. “You can lie down here.”

Athos’s expression went blank. “All right.”

“Now what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Athos.”

He pursed his lips. “I liked sitting here next to you. There, now you can laugh.”

Aramis put his arm around Athos’s shoulder. “No laughing from me, my friend. I’ll sit at one end and you can either put your foot or your head in my lap.”

“Foot is fine. If you don’t mind.”

“I liked it better when you were the one ordering me around, instead of asking.”

“Maybe Porthos would be up for that. I can see him as a leather daddy.”

Aramis poked him in the side. “Oh thanks. It’s only another five hours before I see him.”

Athos gave Aramis a little smirk. Aramis nearly cheered to see it.

*************************

Porthos grabbed Aramis at the door and hugged him like it hadn’t been only twenty-four hours since he’d last laid eyes on him. “I’m fine,” Aramis said before Porthos could ask him. “It’s all going well, fingers crossed.”

Porthos closed the door and looked at him. “You _look_ okay.”

“I really am. It was _his_ idea to me to spend the night here, _Monsieur Méfiant_.” He took advantage of Porthos’s surprise to kiss him. “How are you?”

“Tired. Feeling a bit of an nitwit for freaking out over you.”

“Forget about it. We had a good day, he started his medication, we talked, he sent me to you. What more can you ask for?”

“Nothing, except for it to continue.”

“Day by day, that’s all we can do. Anyway, tonight is for you, and....” He showed Porthos the bag from the market. “Cake.”

“Cake? You made me a cake?”

“I _bought_ you a cake. But I hear you’ve been holding out on me. You can cook, but you’re too lazy.”

Porthos grinned. “Mostly I’m too bloody tired to.” He hugged Aramis again, and Aramis sunk into his beautiful warmth. “How about we eat some of that in bed.”

“Off me.”

“Yeah, ‘s what I was thinking. You go ahead and get ready for bed, and I’ll sort this out.”

Aramis used the bathroom, then undressed in the bedroom. He looked at his prosthesis. Last time, he’d left it on, but it wasn’t the most comfortable thing in bed. He took it off and put it on to charge. There, Porthos could get used to it.

He called Athos. Athos picked up after two rings. “Hey. Just checking in. How are you?”

“Just on my way to bed. Did Porthos like his cake?”

“Yes. Or he will do as soon as he serves it. I’ll be back by eight.”

“Take your time. Thank you, Aramis.”

“You’re welcome. I hope you get some sleep. Good night.”

Aramis turned to put his phone away, and found Porthos watching him from the doorway. “Just making sure,” Aramis said. “He’s fine.”

“Good.”

“The medication has some side-effects. But we talked about them, so he know what to expect.”

Porthos stood there looking at him, cake in hand. As his eyes drifted up and down Aramis’s body, Aramis got the hint. “You want me to stop talking and get into bed, don’t you?”

“Nah. I thought I’d stand here and eat cake while my naked, pretty boyfriend pisses about.”

“Oh. Well, if you prefer to do that....”

Porthos advanced, put the cake down on the bedside table, and then put his hands on Aramis’s shoulders. “You. Bed. Now.”

“You. Naked. Now.”

“Was just about to.” He stripped off, hanging everything up neatly. He glanced at the prosthesis on its charger. “That okay with you?”

“I was wondering the same thing.”

“I don’t mind at all. There isn’t an centimetre of you that I don’t want to lick and nibble, including this.” He picked up Aramis’s left arm and bent to kiss the stump. “Can you feel that?”

“Yeah. It’s weirdly nice, actually.”

“Okay, weirdly, into bed.” He pushed Aramis down carefully and lay over him. “I missed you all day. Thought I might have fucked things up. When I got your messages, I nearly cried.”

“I didn’t mean you to feel that way. We just have to talk, you and me, me and him. He’s happy for me, I think.”

“I thought he’d be threatened.”

“He thinks you don’t like him. Which you don’t, not yet. Don’t worry about it.” He rubbed his damaged arm along Porthos’s head, along the thick, glossy curls. “That feels nice too.”

Porthos raised Aramis’s knee and slid his hand underneath, so he could stroke Aramis’s balls. “You want me? Or do you want to do me?”

“I want you inside me. Been dreaming of it all afternoon.”

“Then let me make your dreams come true, pretty man.”

*************************

As Athos had predicted, Aramis was back at the apartment before he was out of bed, but not by much. Aramis hugged him when he emerged from the bathroom. “How was it?”

“I should be asking you that,” Athos said. “I didn’t sleep much, but no worse than usual when I’m not drinking.”

“That kind of sleep isn’t worth having. I bought pastries, and I’ll make the coffee.”

“Thank you.”

Aramis felt good, at least. A few nice kisses and hugs before Porthos had to leave for work, and walking together to the Métro put him in a good mood, and the night before had been lovely. He wanted that for Athos too, eventually. He couldn’t help but know that would be a while off yet.

An appointment with Sylvie at ten took up an hour. Athos was subdued but not overtly miserable when he came out. “Coffee,” Aramis said.

“Oh, yes.”

Athos’s hair kept falling in his eyes as he drank his coffee, and Aramis finally shoved it behind his ear for him. “I wonder if you could cut it for me,” Athos murmured.

“No.”

Athos’s shoulders hunched a little more. “Okay.”

Aramis put his hand on Athos’s arm. “No, because it’s about time you had a proper haircut by a professional. And a beard trim. Max’s should have time for you. You want to look nice for this evening, don’t you?”

“Aramis, it’s dinner, not a date.”

“I know, but don’t you want to make a good impression? Porthos is coming too.”

Athos made a ‘pfft’ noise. “So that’s the real agenda. You want me to look nice for your boyfriend.”

“Yes. So get your hair cut, okay?”

Athos sighed heavily. “If you insist.”

But even Athos had to agree the haircut and beard tidying was an improvement, and after going through both their wardrobes and picking out the best clothes they owned that weren’t actually suits, the two of them turned up at d’Artagnan’s place looking spiffier than either of them had bothered with since they left the army. D’Artagnan whistled when he opened the door. “Look at you guys. Porthos, check them out.”

Porthos came up behind d’Artagnan. “Not bad. Not bad at all.”

D’Artagnan hugged them both in greeting, so pleased to see them, it was a little embarrassing. Athos handed over the chocolates. “It was Aramis’s idea,” he mumbled.

“It was Athos’s credit card,” Aramis added.

“Wow. Thanks! I love chocolate. I won’t be taking these to work. Cops are shocking food thieves, right, Porthos?”

“The worst.” Porthos had his arm around Aramis and didn’t look like he was going to let go anytime soon. “The kid’s making pizza.”

“Home made pizza? That’s my favourite. Athos, you like it too, don’t you?”

“Yes. Haven’t had it in a long time though.”

D’Artagnan grinned like it was Christmas. “Perfect. I hoped you’d all like it. Come and sit next to me, Athos. Those two will be velcroed together all night.”

“Is he insulting us?” Porthos growled against Aramis’s ear.

“I think he’s describing us accurately,” Aramis said. Athos smiled a little.

Over pizza—quite the best Aramis had ever had—Porthos and d’Artagnan traded stories about the stupidest criminals or nuisances they’d had to deal with. Like the inebriated woman who thought showing her breasts would win her leniency, but who couldn’t work out how to undo her blouse, or the man who pleaded not guilty to a public disorder charge for leaving faeces in public places, even though he’d been seen taking a crap in a changing room in a department store, and had done so in the back of the police wagon. He claimed he had a bowel problem.

“The magistrate was so not amused when he tried to shit in her courtroom too.”

Aramis hooted with laughter at Porthos’s expression as he said this. “You’re making this up.”

“I’m not. Tell him, d’Artagnan.”

“He really isn’t. I’d rather deal with a fatal car crash than some of the substances produced by human beings.”

“I’m a nurse, so nothing much bothers me. Except mucus for some reason. Spit and mucus. Yuck.”

“What about you, Athos? Does anything disgust you?” d’Artagnan asked.

Athos cleared his throat. “If it did, I’d just ask Aramis to clean it up. That’s what subordinates are for.”

Porthos’s expression went flinty, so Aramis quickly said, “He’s talking about back in the day, of course. He cleans his own mess now.”

“Glad to hear it.” Porthos gave Athos a hard look. Athos looked down at his plate. Aramis felt like smacking his boyfriend.

He changed the subject instead. “Did you have fun last night, d’Artagnan?”

“Last night? Oh, my fencing club. It’s just an amateur thing. I’ve been doing it since high school. Have you ever fenced?”

“Me? No, I was in the target shooters club. Athos fenced though, even in the academy.”

D’Artagnan’s expression lit up. “Oh, you should come along. It’s all just fun.” He seemed puzzled when the rest of them looked at him. “What?”

“I don’t do a lot of fencing since my leg was blown off,” Athos said, his expression as neutral as he was capable of making it.

D’Artagnan put his hands over his mouth. “Oh my God. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean...I just forgot.”

Athos put his hand up. “It’s quite all right.”

“No, honestly, I just forgot. But you know there are disabled fencers, right? They have them in the Paralympics. In wheelchairs, mostly, but I thought I’d seen amputee fencers too. I could look it up for you.”

“Please don’t trouble yourself.” Athos sipped from his water glass and looked down at his plate.

“But it’d be great fun and exercise for you. Do you do any other sport?” Athos shook his head. “You should, it’s very good for depression.”

Porthos reached over and punched d’Artagnan lightly in the shoulder. “Please excuse my friend, he was raised by wolves. D’Artagnan, you’re being a prat.”

“No, no. It’s fine,” Athos said, though with an obvious effort. “I’m not fit, and he’s quite right.”

“I’m sorry, Athos. I only wanted to help.”

Athos turned to him. “I know. No offence taken.”

Aramis smiled, trying to lighten the atmosphere. “Maybe we could look into fencing or something suitable once you start feeling a little better, Athos. I know I need more than long walks to get back to full fitness.”

“I use the gym at work,” Porthos said. “And long walks when I can. I move around a lot on the job.”

“You could take up shooting again, Aramis. You don’t need both hands for that.”

Aramis huffed out a laugh at the sheer lack of tact in d’Artagnan’s comment, while Porthos cuffed him on the side of the head. Athos’s lip quirked up nearly into a smile. “Raised by wolves, I’m telling ya. What would your mum say about your manners, d’Artagnan?”

“I was just trying to help,” d’Artagnan pleaded. “I didn’t realise you didn’t want your injuries mentioned.”

“There’s no point in dancing around the subject,” Athos said quietly. “At least not on my account. There is nothing shameful about them.”

“True enough. You earned them in the service of France and peace,” Porthos said. “Sorry if I made you feel otherwise.”

“Everyone, stop apologising,” Aramis said. He reached over and clasped d’Artagnan’s wrist. “You did nothing wrong. Porthos, thank you for worrying about our feelings, but I’m fine, and Athos just said he doesn’t mind.” He turned and kissed Porthos’s cheek. “We were soldiers. We know about the hard realities, more than most.”

Porthos nodded. “Yeah, we do.”

D’Artagnan still looked a little subdued. Athos turned to him. “The fencing idea could be interesting. Are you any good?”

“Yeah, I’m not bad. You come and watch one evening if you like. We could have dinner afterwards, with the guys.”

“That might be nice.”

Athos sounded wary. “Give it a couple of weeks,” Aramis said to them both. “He should be feeling better.

D’Artagnan made them tea, and at ten, Porthos sat back. “Okay, I’d better go. D’Artagnan, thanks for a great meal. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

D’Artagnan rose with him and hugged him. “You’re always welcome, mate.”

“I’ll walk you down,” Aramis said.

“You could stay over if you want to,” Athos said. “I can make my own way home.”

Porthos looked tempted, but Aramis shook his head. “It’s okay. I’ll be back in a few.”

Porthos pulled him into a hug as they reached the bottom of the stairs. “You didn’t want to stay over?”

“Of course I did. But I just want to be careful of him right now. Giving up the booze and starting meds and new therapy, meeting new people, it’s all a huge stress on him. Please be patient with me.”

“I can do that. You’re right, he’s not that bad when you get to know him.”

Aramis grinned. “I told you! Mind you, he _can_ be a right shit when he wants to be. D’Artagnan seems to like him, though.”

“Yeah, I hope not.”

Aramis looked at him in surprise. “Why?”

“A depressed alcoholic and a man who just lost the love of his life?”

“Getting ahead of yourself, aren’t you?”

“D’Artagnan sat with him all night, and lit up every time Athos spoke to him. Seen it before, with Constance. I don’t want him hurt again.”

“I’m sure Athos isn’t interested even if D’Artagnan is. I’d be just as worried for Athos, given he hasn’t even started to get over his wife’s death.”

“Hope you’re right.”

Aramis frowned. “He’s not the devil, you know.”

“No, just well fucked up.” Porthos sighed. “I wish we didn’t have to fight about him.”

“We’re not fighting. Can I see you tomorrow? I could stay over.”

“I’m not working until Sunday evening. Can you give me that much time?”

“Uh...I really don’t know. Probably not, but we can have some of it. If we include Athos, more than some.”

“Okay.” Porthos shook himself. “I better get going. Sleep well.”

“You too.” Aramis kissed him, trying to put all his longing into it. Porthos responded as if he was trying to inhale Aramis’s soul. Finally Aramis pushed him away. “Go or we’ll end up having sex on the street and you’ll have to arrest me.”

“Don’t want to do that. ‘Night.”

Regretfully, Aramis watched him walk away, but he had no regrets about sticking with Athos. He would lay bets with himself that tomorrow, Athos would want some quiet time alone.

“Hey,” D’Artagnan said as he walked back in. “I was just saying to Athos that if you come over and want to go home with Porthos, Athos is welcome to sack out here.”

Ah. That explained Athos’s pained look. “It’s a bit tricky, isn’t it, Athos? I mean, with your leg. He has to have his room set up so he can get up in the night without fumbling for the prosthesis. I have it easier than him,” he added, holding up his left arm.

“Oh. I stepped in it again, didn’t I?”

“No.” Athos sat up. “No, it was a kind offer. I might take you up on it at some point, thank you.”

“We could always eat at our place and you stay with us,” Aramis said. Athos would hate that though.

“Yes, that’s an idea,” Athos said.

 _Oh. Apparently not._ “Great!” d’Artagnan said. “We should do that. But I better let you go.” He hugged Aramis. “Thank you for coming over.”

“Thank you. That pizza...please make it all the time.”

D’Artagnan grinned. “If you insist, but I have other recipes.”

“No, has to be that pizza.”

“Okay. Thanks for coming over, Athos. Hope it wasn’t too stressful.”

He gathered Athos into his arms, and no, Aramis hadn’t been mistaken. Athos reacted by relaxing as if the embrace reduced his stress levels. “It was lovely,” Athos said, and this time, he didn’t sound as if it was an effort. “Aramis?”

“Yeah. See you soon, D’Artagnan.”

They caught a taxi, though they’d come by Métro. “Such a nice kid,” Aramis said.

“Yes.”

“Are you interested in the fencing idea?”

“Possibly. It’s been a while.”

“I don’t think I’d take up shooting again. It’s not so much fun after you have to do it for real.”

“Quite.”

When they returned to the apartment, Aramis looked closely at Athos. He’d gone quiet and sad-looking again. “Are you okay?”

“Tired. A bit...too much.”

“Quiet morning?”

“Please. We can go for a walk if you want. Later.”

Aramis hugged him. “Of course. But it was a good day today, right?”

Athos smiled faintly. “Yes, it was.”

“So, good days are possible. Remember that.”

“I’ll try,” Athos murmured into his shoulder.

“That’s all I want.”


	4. Chapter 4

The four of them fell into a routine quite naturally, much to Aramis’s surprise and considerable relief. He saw Porthos almost every day, and spent at least three nights a week at his place. At least one night a week they had dinner at d’Artagnan’s apartment, and d’Artagnan started coming over to theirs to cook as well. After Athos’s third week on the medication, his energy levels suddenly rose, and though he was still somewhat insomniac, he confessed to feeling the best he had since his wife died.

“I guess I’m cured,” he said after Aramis hugged him nearly to death at the news.

“Not yet,” Aramis said. “But the path is laid. Do you believe that now?”

“I think so. Sylvie says I still need to deal with Anne’s death.”

“Yes. But you don’t have to do it alone.”

Athos looked at him with suddenly shining eyes. “I miss her, Aramis. I can’t seem to stop. And I miss Thomas, which is appalling.”

“No, it’s not.” Aramis pulled him down onto the couch and kept his arm around him. “You can be angry at him and still miss him. It doesn’t help you that you don’t know what he was thinking. I suppose you’ll have to deal with that, and accept it.”

Athos nodded. He scrubbed his eyes with his arm. “It’s her birthday next week. Would it be ridiculously maudlin to lay flowers at her headstone on the weekend?”

“I’ll come with you, if you like. And no, it’s not.”

Athos clung to him, head bowed. Aramis patted his hair. “You’ll get there,” he said quietly. “You’ll get there.”

After a bit Athos stirred. “Porthos and d’Artagnan are coming to dinner this Friday, aren’t they?”

“Yeah. I was going to go home with Porthos and spend Saturday with him, if that’s okay with you.”

“Why not ask him to stay here? D’Artagnan could sleep over too.”

Aramis stared. “Are you sure? That’s a big intrusion into your space.”

Athos gave him a look Aramis remembered from his army days. “I have a bedroom, Aramis. And earplugs, if it comes to it. Why, don’t you want to? Or is it Porthos?”

“No, no,” he said hastily. “I’m sure that’d be good. I’ll text them. Thank you.”

“This is your home too, and always will be as far as I’m concerned. Whether you live here or not.”

Aramis pressed his forehead against Athos’s hair. “You’re going to make _me_ cry now.”

“Please don’t do that.”

Aramis chuckled. “Okay. You’re the only one who cries, got it.” Athos jabbed him in the side, and Aramis laughed at him.

D’Artagnan had made good on the idea of teaching them to cook, and had sent them a shopping list of things to buy from the local market. He wanted them to make lamb ragout over pappardelle pasta. He’d already badgered Athos into buying some basic kitchen items that Athos didn’t own because he didn’t use the damn things. “It would be easier just to go out for dinner,” Athos said as they loaded up their shopping bags. “And possibly cheaper.”

“Not as much fun though. Or do you mind the mess?”

“No, as long as _you_ clean it up. You and Porthos.”

“And what are you doing while we do that, _monsieur le comte_?”

“I shall be recovering from the exertion of learning how to make pasta. Anyway, this was your idea, so you clean up.”

“Technically, it was his idea.”

“And technically, you supported it, so there.”

There wasn’t really room in the kitchen for the four of them, so Aramis and Porthos sat and watched on the living room side of the counter, while d’Artagnan and Athos worked on the other side. D’Artagnan was as enthusiastic a teacher as he was a cook, and Athos more patient as a student with him than he would have been with someone else, even with Aramis’s sarcastic comments about his fight with the pasta dough. Athos watched the cooking lamb with the same intensity he once devoted to maps of enemy positions, and listened to D’Artagnan as closely as if he’d been one of their generals.

After a fraught discussion about knives and cutting boards, Porthos threw up his hands. “It’s pasta, not an unexploded bomb.”

“It’s _good_ _food_ ,” d’Artagnan insisted. “It’s more important than knowing how to disarm an explosive.”

“Not if you’re the one doing the disarming,” Aramis said.

Athos looked up. “Yes, but one eats every day. Disarming bombs is more of an occasional hobby.”

Porthos fell off his stool, giggling.

The meal took nearly two hours to be ready, but Aramis thought it was worth it, not just because it tasted good, which it did, but because Athos had spent two hours in other people’s company without complaining or becoming lost in his thoughts. The medication was starting to work well for him, but the other changes in his life were what had made the difference, at least to Aramis’s thinking.

In the army, one was never short of company, so apart from all the other drastic disruptions of Athos’s life, he’d suddenly lost that easy friendship with his brothers in arms. They both had lost it. Porthos and d’Artagnan had started to fill that hole.

With no need to worry about getting up for work, the conversation drifted on towards midnight, until Athos said he was tired. “Blankets, pillows, all in the third bedroom for you, d’Artagnan. Spare toiletries in the bathroom.”

“Thanks, Athos. By the way, what are you both up to this weekend?”

“I don’t have plans, except for Sunday,” Athos answered. “I’m, uh, going to the cemetery.”

D’Artagnan frowned. “On your own?”

“No, I’ll be with him,” Aramis said. “It’s Anne’s birthday next week. His wife.”

Athos looked at the floor. “I thought I’d lay some flowers. Stupid, I know.”

“No, it’s not,” d’Artagnan said. “Can I come with you?”

“Why on earth would you want to do that?”

Now it was d’Artagnan’s turn to look shy. “Um...it’s two years since my Dad died. I know he’s buried in Lupiac, but it would be nice to think of him. Sorry, that’s intruding on what you want to do for your wife.”

Athos looked at Aramis before answering. “Not at all. I’d be honoured if you’d come with me. Aramis, that would free you up to be with Porthos too. Why not make a weekend of it?”

Aramis wasn’t at all sure that was a good idea, but Porthos squeezed his shoulder. “Yeah, why not? We could all meet up again for Sunday lunch before I have to go to work.”

“Are you sure, Athos?”

Athos frowned at Aramis. “Are you suggesting that I might come to harm in the company of one of Paris’s finest police officers?”

“Not harm, you idiot—”

“I’ll call you,” d’Artagnan said to Aramis. “Neither of us would want to let it get too much, right, Athos?”

“No. Aramis, spend the weekend with your boyfriend. It’s about time you did.”

Aramis threw up his hands. “Okay, I’m outvoted. But what will you do tomorrow?”

“I’ll be here, of course. D’Artagnan can do as he wish.”

“I’m at a fencing tournament in the afternoon. Athos could come and watch, if he likes.”

“Then that’s settled,” Athos said. “Babysitting is in hand, _Maman_.”

“You need a bloody good smack sometimes,” Porthos muttered.

“Once upon a time you’d have had to prove you could deliver on that threat,” Athos snapped back. “But I’m sure it would be no trouble for you to knock down an amputee.”

Porthos stiffened. Aramis put his hand on Porthos’s chest to stop him getting to his feet. “Gentlemen, there’s no need for that. Athos, you don’t need a babysitter, only company. D’Artagnan, thank you. Porthos, you do still want to go to bed with me, right?”

“Right. Come on. Goodnight,” he said to d’Artagnan and Athos, without singling either out.

Aramis dashed into the bathroom, and was in bed, naked, before Porthos came in. “I’m going to sneak some Thorazine into your food if you don’t calm down about Athos,” he said as he watched Porthos strip, and a very lovely sight it was too.

“I don’t know why he has to be so nasty to you.”

“Nasty? You call that nasty? That was perfectly normal and acceptable sarcasm. You haven’t _seen_ nasty yet, though if you keep insulting him in his own home, you will, and not just from him.”

Porthos went still. “I don’t think that’s called for, Aramis.”

“I do. He’s not a child. He’s a wounded war hero, a brave officer, and my dearest friend. Where do you get off telling him he needs a smack?”

“It was a joke.”

“Didn’t sound like one.”

Porthos pulled up his trousers. “Maybe I should leave.”

“Maybe, if you can’t handle a discussion without flouncing off. You have no idea how big a concession he’s made to let you stay, do you?”

“Well, he doesn’t owe me any fucking favours. I’ll see you next week, maybe.”

“For God’s sake, Porthos. Sit down and stop being so resentful.” Porthos obeyed, though resentment showed in every line of his body. “What’s _wrong_ with you? What’s upsetting you? The way he spoke to me? I said worse to him tonight while he was cooking.”

“D’Artagnan.”

“What?”

“Him, going with d’Artagnan to the cemetery. I don’t like it.”

“Why?”

“You know why. The kid is stuck on him.”

Aramis threw up his hands. “And? Athos is going to visit the grave of his _dead wife_. If there’s anyone on earth less ready to move on than he is, I would be amazed. D’Artagnan might be disappointed, but he’s a big boy. Let him work it out.”

“And if Athos _doesn’t_ disappoint him?”

“Hooray? Christ, you sound like his horrible parents, and you so do not want to do that. They’re furious he’s in Paris with me, and not at their morbid pile out in the country where they can properly condescend to their wounded failure of a son.”

“Failure?”

“Yeah. You know, marrying a woman with a past, and then that vixen talked their precious Thomas into murdering her and killing himself.”

Porthos’s mouth fell open. “You’re kidding.”

“Not a bit of it. Two months ago, it was his grandmother’s ninetieth birthday. He adores his grandmother, but he could not face going back to his parents’ home. He didn’t even dare call her in case they answered. They’re _vile._ I met them in rehab. They came to visit. Two nights later, Athos was sent to hospital with alcohol poisoning.”

“Jesus.”

“Yeah. So maybe just cut the poor sod some slack. D’Artagnan won’t hurt him, and Athos won’t hurt D’Artagnan deliberately. If it happens accidentally, he’s got us to kiss his booboos better.”

“You’re being a bit careless with my friend’s feelings.”

“No, I’m not. But d’Artagnan isn’t a severely depressed, grieving alcoholic, and Athos is. Who do you think worries me more?”

Porthos looked at him for a long time before he answered. “D’Artagnan’s dad died just after him and me became friends, not long after I joined the force. We had a lot of heart to hearts, and we basically carried each other those first few months. What I’m saying is I feel about him like you feel about Athos.”

“I understand that. But you’re working under a perception of Athos which I don’t always recognise. You made your mind up before you even met him.”

“Can’t help that, can I? I’ve been fair to him as best I can. Can’t blame me for worrying about my friend.”

“No.” Aramis made a decision. “But you _are_ making me feel guilty for not being there for mine on Sunday. I should be there, and I will be.”

“Don’t suppose I’d be welcome too?”

“Why not? You have your own dead to remember.” Aramis put his hand behind Porthos’s head, and gently pulled him closer. “I know I do. Paying respect to their memory would be a healing thing for us too.”

Porthos lay down, taking Aramis with him. “I can’t help it. I’ve spent my entire life looking out for the younger ones. I can’t stop now.”

“I don’t want you to. Just because Athos is older doesn’t mean he doesn’t need taking care of. He’s younger than me, after all.”

“I’m younger than you too. You gonna look after me as well?”

Aramis slid his hand down Porthos’s body. “Take those trousers off again and you can be sure of it.”

*************************

In the end, Porthos’s fears proved groundless. They met Athos and d’Artagnan at the gates of the crematorium, and walked together to the place where the ashes of Anne de La Fère had been buried. The weather had improved, and a feeble sun managed to send a little warmth their way. Athos had bought a single white rose, and asked to be left alone for a little bit while he laid it and paid his respects. Aramis made a silent prayer for her soul, and for her still sorrowing husband, that they might find peace in this or the next life. Porthos and d’Artagnan did not share their thoughts, though Aramis thought d’Artagnan probably prayed as well.

When Athos was done, he turned, red-eyed, to them. Aramis collected him into a hug, and then d’Artagnan did the same. “May your sorrows grow lighter with time,” Aramis said to them. He held his hand out to Porthos. “You too, my dear friend.”

Porthos took his hand, and Aramis squeezed it. “Have we time to stop at a church for a few minutes? Would that offend anyone?”

“I’d like that,” d’Artagnan said. “There’s one on the other side of the road from the gate, I think.”

Sunday services had just finished as they entered. Aramis took a seat at the back, next to Porthos. Athos sat on his other side, and d’Artagnan next to him. “Dad would have liked this place,” d’Artagnan said. “I miss him every day. So much.”

Athos took his hand. “Same with Anne.”

“Me and Charon too,” Porthos said, wiping his eyes. “For the first year, I kept turning to tell him something and he wasn’t there.”

“Kills me every time I do that,” d’Artagnan said.

“I keep wanting to ask her if she’s okay. If she’s happy. Which is stupid. But I don’t want her to be unhappy. We spent so much of our marriage apart, because of my job, but she always...always said she was fine. She was so strong. Stronger than me. You remember, Aramis.”

“She was a wonderful woman.” Aramis put his hand over Athos’s. It was icy cold.

“Her death was such a _waste_.”

Aramis squeezed his hand. “Thomas à Kempis said, ‘Nothing that suffers can pass without merit in the sight of God’. Her life meant something because she lived it, and suffered in it, as we all do.”

“Bullshit,” Porthos said, shaking his head.

“I tend to agree,” Athos said. “It meant something because she was human, and she was loved, and she loved. Suffering for the greater glory meant nothing to her, or to me.”

“Yet you served France in the army,” Aramis said. “Many would say that’s an abstract concept.”

“I served with my fellow soldiers. I fought to keep them safe, to stop the enemy overrunning civilian populations. I didn’t join the military to serve a concept. I joined to serve my country. My fellow citizens. Our security.”

Porthos nodded. “I joined because my boyfriend joined, and it was a good gig. Once I was in, it was about keeping each other safe, fighting with my brothers.”

“Yet, you left the army and became a police officer,” Aramis replied. “So somewhere in your heart, you believe in serving the people, just like Athos.”

“Nothing to do with God, though. I don’t believe in one.”

Aramis grinned at Porthos’s utter disregard for the surroundings. “I believe in the god inside each of us.”

“Is that why you say ‘Jesus’ when you come?”

Athos grinned, while D’Artagnan put his hands over his ears. “Not in a _church_ , for fuck’s sake.” He put his hands over his mouth. “Oh my God, I just said ‘fuck’ in church.”

Porthos was holding himself and trying not to laugh. “Maybe we need to get him out of here before he’s hit by lightning.”

“Thrown by the god you don’t believe in,” Athos said, as he stood and dragged d’Artagnan up with him.

“So long as God believes in d’Artagnan, there’s always a risk,” Aramis said, pushing them out of the pew. “So much for quiet reflection and prayer.”

“Sorry,” d’Artagnan said once they were outside and no longer at risk of being fried.

“Don’t be, it was hilarious,” Aramis said.

“Very,” Athos said, still smiling. “But perhaps we should continue this conversation over lunch.”

*************************

After Porthos left to go to work, d’Artagnan suggested a walk in the park near Athos and Aramis’s apartment, the Parc des Buttes Chaumonts. Aramis was happy to agree. The fine weather had enticed Parisians outside, so they walked along crowded paths, dodging dogs and prams and joggers.

“How do you feel now?” Aramis asked Athos. “Did that help?”

“Yes, in a strange way. It was good not to be alone.”

D’Artagnan turned to look at him. “It was a honour to be there. And it helped me too.”

Aramis put his arms around their shoulders. “Then it was worth doing. Tell me about your day yesterday. Was it fun?”

“It was quite enjoyable,” Athos said. “D’Artagnan’s team won the tournament.”

“Congratulations.”

D’Artagnan shrugged. “It’s only a bit of fun. We’re not trying for the Olympics.”

“Nonetheless, your team performed quite well,” Athos said. “You took it seriously, and it was a pleasure to see.”

D’Artagnan beamed. Porthos would have a stroke if he saw his expression, Aramis thought, but damned if he could see anything wrong with the two men becoming friends, or anything else they wanted to be.

D’Artagnan was still looking into amputee fencing for Athos, he said. “But my captain thought you should come along to our club, maybe try out if you fancy it. He said not to worry about your leg. Since it’s a below the knee amputation, he thought you might have enough movement to spar, if you want.”

“I don’t know,” Athos murmured. “I might end up on my arse, looking like a fool.”

“Then you’ll be no different from the rest of us. I won’t push, but you’d be welcome.”

“I’ll think about it. Thank you for the invitation.”

They parted company an hour later, D’Artagnan clearly reluctant to leave but saying he had things to do before work the following day. He hugged them both, and if he hugged Athos a little longer, Aramis wasn’t going to say anything.

“Another good day,” he said as they walked back to their apartment.

“Another two, in fact. I feel guilty though. Like I’m being disloyal to Anne by enjoying a life she no longer has.”

Aramis stopped him, putting his hands on his friend’s shoulders. “No, you’re not. Anne loved you. I believe that, whether or not she was having an affair. The last thing she would want is for you to wallow in misery for something you had no control over. You didn’t kill her. He did. _He’s_ the one who bears all the blame. Your sorrow, you denying yourself happiness, won’t bring her back, and if I have to say this to you every day for a year, then I will, so long as you believe it. Believe it, Athos. Live the life she wanted for you. Be the man she believed you were. That I know you are.”

Athos’s mouth worked, and his eyes glistened. “I don’t believe in God, but I believe in you. Thank you, my friend.”

Aramis hugged him. “You’re welcome. Now, let’s go home.”


	5. Chapter 5

So their routine continued, but also changed. Athos continued to see Sylvie twice a week, and that, combined with the medication, was having a positive effect on his depression. His energy levels rose, and with that, a willingness to go out and try things he’d previously rejected. One of those was d’Artagnan’s fencing suggestion. Aramis went along the first night Athos decided to give it a try, and was relieved to see that very few of the club members were as fit or trim as their young friend. The captain of the club greeted them warmly, asked Athos about his experiences with the sport, and suggested he warm up with them and then try a gentle spar.

D’Artagnan was more nervous than Athos was. “What if he hurts himself?” he whispered to Aramis as Athos, having changed into borrowed gear, faced up to the captain. “Or breaks that leg?”

“I’m sure he’ll be fine. People with prosthetic legs play all kinds of sport.”

Privately, Aramis had no idea how Athos would go. The very fact he was trying was more than enough to celebrate.

He knew very little about fencing, so judged the success of the spar from the lack of injury and Athos’s flushed, happy face once he took off the mask. “Well done,” d’Artagnan said, as Athos walked off the mat towards them.

“I was dreadful,” Athos said.

“No, I didn’t think so. Considering how long it’s been and your leg and everything, you did well. Right, Aramis?”

“Don’t look at me,” Aramis said. “I have no idea. The important thing is, did you enjoy it?”

“Yes, I did.”

D’Artagnan grinned. “Great! So you’ll try again?”

“I could be persuaded.” Athos’s smile suggested it wouldn’t be too difficult to do so.

Fencing became a regular Wednesday night thing for Athos, even when d’Artagnan was working and couldn’t go himself. Athos was under no illusion that he would ever be good, but he enjoyed it and that was all that mattered. Aramis now regularly woke up in the mornings and found Athos had risen before him, and was in the living room doing his stretches and forms quite unselfconsciously. Athos even managed to rope Aramis into joining him, though as yet he hadn’t succeeded in persuading Aramis to try fencing itself. A couple of times Aramis had come home to find all the furniture pushed back in the living room, and Athos and d’Artagnan doing a slow motion spar, with Athos giving d’Artagnan pointers on his style.

Aramis never mentioned this to Porthos, or that his friends had gone to dinner and a movie, with his blessing. D’Artagnan had called Aramis to ask him about it. “Do you think he’d let me take him out? Like, on a real date?”

“You can only ask, d’Artagnan.”

“Yeah, but is he _ready_ to be asked?”

The kid deserved a proper answer, so Aramis considered it carefully. “How do you feel about him turning you down?”

“Okay? I mean, I like him as a friend and want to keep him as one. But if, you know, he’s happy for more, I’m up for it.”

“And it’s been how long since you broke up with Constance?”

“Three and a half months. I think I’m over it. At least, over the worst of it.”

And Athos had been on the medication for two months, dry just as long, and seeing Sylvie regularly. “Then I say, go for it. But only if you mean what you say, that you can stay friends if he’s not interested. Your friendship’s important to him. Don’t take it away for the sake of a shag.”

“I don’t just want a shag,” d’Artagnan had muttered. “I care about him.”

“Good. So do I. Good luck.”

And whatever d’Artagnan had said to Athos must have worked, because the two of them headed out on a Tuesday night after d’Artagnan finished work.

“Nice evening?” Aramis asked the next morning when he came back from Porthos’s place.

Athos looked happy and relaxed. “Very, thank you. How’s Porthos?”

“Also very nice.”

They shared a smile, and got ready for Athos to see Sylvie.

For his own part, Aramis was a lot happier than he’d been at the start of the year. He was busy preparing for his master’s course, his days now felt full of purpose, his friendship with Athos was stronger and better than it had been since the IED attack, and he had a boyfriend he cared about, deeply. But Aramis wasn’t sure where he and Porthos were going. He could be content to amble on as they were, but he’d hoped for more than sex from the relationship. The sex was great, fantastic, but it was when they started to talk that things went pear-shaped. Every time Athos’s name—or, increasingly, d’Artagnan’s—came up, Porthos became defensive and hypercritical. Aramis was doing his best to be understanding and sympathetic, but he simply didn’t know where some of this was coming from. He wasn’t sure even Porthos knew.

For now, he could only be patient and hope more exposure to Athos would ease his concerns. He tried to have Porthos come to Athos’s apartment as often as possible, rather than Aramis going to Porthos’s place. ‘Often’ was not ‘always’, since if D’Artagnan was not there, conversations between the three of them tended to dry up rather quickly. The easiest times were when Athos cooked. The worst were when their time in the military came up. Athos just would not talk about that at all, and Porthos rarely wanted to share either. Aramis persisted only because he knew the good in each of them, and that at heart, they weren’t so very different. But it was bloody hard work.

D’Artagnan was the oil that let the engine of friendship work. Porthos was more relaxed, Athos chattier and happier, Aramis entertained more when the kid was around. And d’Artagnan gained a lot too, Aramis felt. The loneliness that was so intense it had sat like a cloud around him when Aramis had first met him, had dissipated—unless d’Artagnan had become better at hiding it. But since d’Artagnan was charmingly almost incapable of guile, it was more likely he felt better in himself, and was truly over the worst of the pain from his broken relationship with his old girlfriend. Nothing other than the improvement in Athos’s mental state gave Aramis more quiet satisfaction.

The Friday or Saturdays nights when neither d’Artagnan nor Porthos were working that evening or the next day had become solidly a night at Athos’s house with sleepover. D’Artagnan would cook, Athos would help, and the other two would kibitz until one or other of the men doing the work threw something at them. At this point, Aramis would drag Porthos either to the couch or to the bedroom until dinner was ready. Aramis suspected Porthos deliberately poked d’Artagnan earlier and earlier with hopes of being banished.

Movies had proved a mixed success. Athos was fluent in English, refused to listen to dubs, and was fussy about what films he watched. Aramis was reasonable at English, disliked dubs but would put up with them, and would watch anything the others liked. Porthos spoke high-school English, hated subtitles, and preferred action movies. d’Artagnan, who had slightly better English than Porthos, had disgraced himself by admitting he loved romantic comedies, and was nearly evicted when he’d praised _Love, Actually_ in front of Athos. He was _not_ allowed to choose movies.

However, finding films that suited all of them had reduced them most evenings to watching _wuxia_ movies or the most high concept offerings from America—at which point, Athos put his headphones on and ignored them until the movie was over. Strangely, he had a weakness for the _Transformer_ films, because he liked the special effects, and the James Bond franchise because he found them hilarious. He was happiest when the evening’s selection was from France or Canada, or at the very least, the BBC.

This night’s choice was SPECTRE because d’Artagnan fancied Daniel Craig and Naomie Harris, Porthos and Aramis enjoyed the action sequences, and Athos loved picking apart the plot. Aramis had watched it three times with Athos by now, and it wouldn’t be same now without Athos’s dry and cutting observations. Even Porthos laughed at them, and was still chuckling by the time Aramis took him to bed.

“He should review movies for a living,” Porthos said as he undressed.

“What, and take all the fun out of it for him? I’d rather he didn’t.”

“He needs a job, doesn’t he?”

“Not really. He needs an occupation, but he’s keeping busy enough for now. I’m the one who needs a job.”

“And meanwhile, I’m the lucky bastard who gets to ‘occupy’ you.” Porthos waggled his eyebrows in case the heavy emphasis in his words had somehow escaped Aramis. Aramis assured him it hadn't by hitting him over the head with his pillow.

Saturday morning dawned fair and bright, waking Aramis earlier than usual. He got up with the intention of making coffee to take back to bed with Porthos, and found Athos already in the kitchen. “Hey. How did you sleep?”

“Like a baby.”

“Crying, shitting your nappy, sucking your thumb?”

Athos rolled his eyes. “Don’t give up your day job, Aramis.”

“I’ll have to find one first. Oh hello, darling.” Porthos leaned across the counter to kiss Aramis on the cheek. “I wanted to give you breakfast in bed.”

“Don’t let me stop you. Morning, Athos.”

Athos nodded in response. “I hope you slept well.”

“Once Aramis let me, yeah.”

“No one likes a show-off, Porthos,” Aramis said. “Go back to bed, and I’ll bring this in.”

“Okay.” Porthos turned, then made a hissing noise. “What the fuck?”

Aramis looked up. “What?”

But Porthos had already rushed towards the bedrooms. Aramis left the kitchen to see Porthos holding d’Artagnan at the door of Athos’s room. “What are you doing in his room? Did you...?” He pointed at d’Artagnan’s throat and a rather obvious lovebite. “You slept with him?”

Porthos turned. Athos had come out of the kitchen and stood with his arms folded. “You fucker,” Porthos shouted. “I can’t believe you slept with d’Artagnan!” He approached Athos and threw a punch, only for Athos to duck, then stumble, ending up on his arse. Porthos made to grab at him, but Aramis ran up and flung his arms around the man, dragging him back out away from Athos.

“The fuck do you think you are doing?” Aramis yelled at his boyfriend. “Knock it off!”

Porthos shrugged him off, still staring at Athos, who was trying to get to his feet. “He slept with d’Artagnan!”

“Technically, I slept with him.” D’Artagnan walked over, his face pale and unsmiling. “Since it’s his place, not mine. Or yours.” He stepped past them to help Athos stand, then put his arm around Athos’s shoulders, looking unflinchingly at Porthos.

Porthos whirled to face Aramis. “You said he wasn’t ready. You said this wouldn’t happen.”

“I didn’t say it would never happen. And so what? The world hasn’t come to an end.”

Porthos turned and stuck his finger in Athos’s face. “You keep your fucking hands off him. You’re a mess, and he doesn’t need your shit.”

Athos looked at the floor. D’Artagnan stood up straight and pushed himself in front of Athos, glaring at Porthos. “Leave. Now.”

Aramis grabbed Porthos’s arm and pulled him away from the two men. “Yes. Leave. I’m not having this in our home.”

“Aramis?”

“We can talk later. Or not. Up to you. Just...get out, Porthos. Now.” He pushed him towards the door. “Now.”

Porthos pursed his lips, then turned on his heel, grabbed his coat and backpack, and went out. Aramis locked the door behind him. “I’m so sorry,” he said to Athos.

D’Artagnan led Athos to the couch, but looked up at Aramis. “Do you want to tell me what the fuck that was all about? Have you been talking to him about me and Athos?”

Aramis pushed his hand through his hair. “I need coffee before this conversation.” He crouched in front of Athos. “Are you okay?”

Athos shook his head. “I didn’t mean to...I don’t understand.”

“No, you probably wouldn’t because it’s silly. Have you taken your medication?”

“I’ll get it.”

“No, let me. D’Artagnan, do you want something to eat?”

“No. Whatever you’re having. Jesus, what a way to start the day.”

Aramis finished making the coffee, set out croissants, a glass of water and Athos’s pill, and brought a tray over to the living room. He handed Athos the water and medication, then poured coffee for the three of them. D’Artagnan handed Athos his cup, then put his arm around him again. Athos leaned into him, still not looking at any of them.

“Start talking,” d’Artagnan said. “What the hell is going on?”

Aramis sighed. “Porthos had concerns about you two beginning a relationship because of your recent breakup and Athos’s...issues.”

“And that justifies him trying to belt Athos for having me in his bed?”

“No, it doesn’t. I’m sorry, Athos, d’Artagnan. I didn’t expect him to react like this.”

“You should go after him,” Athos murmured.

“No, I shouldn’t. You’re more important to me.”

Athos looked up. “He’s your boyfriend.”

“You’re my _best_ friend, bar none. There’s no choice.”

Athos covered his eyes with his hand, and d’Artagnan hugged him closer, glaring at Aramis over Athos’s head. “What do we do now?”

“I have no idea. Have breakfast, for a start. Athos, this isn’t your fault. If it’s anyone’s, it’s mine.”

“Can we not talk about blame?” Athos said. “I’m sorry, Charles.” He buried his face in d’Artagnan’s shoulder. D’Artagnan stroked his hair, and murmured something into his ear. They were so sweet together, Aramis couldn’t help but think if Porthos could see them, he wouldn’t be so hardline about all this.

Aramis drank coffee and tried not to worry about whether his relationship with Porthos was over. To tell the truth, he didn’t want one with the man he’d seen just now, but that wasn’t all Porthos could be, or was. Time to deal with him later. He got up to make more coffee. “Do you two want time alone together? I can push off.”

“No. Please stay,” Athos said, looking at d’Artagnan who nodded.

“If you’re sure. I'm happy for you, by the way.”

D’Artagnan managed a smile. “Thanks. We hardly rushed into it.”

“I know. He might calm down. I’m worried about your working relationship.”

“There isn’t one until he apologises. I’ll transfer before I put up with that nonsense.”

Athos made a noise of distress. “Charles, no.”

“I’m sorry, Athos, but it’s my decision. I won’t have you attacked at all, let alone here, and I won’t tolerate him talking to either of us like that.”

Aramis couldn't argue against that, but he had to try and keep at least their friendship intact. “He was concerned about you, d’Artagnan. That’s all it was.”

“Then why try to hit Athos? Not only has Athos done nothing wrong at all, but he’s disabled. A cop, hitting a one-legged man? An innocent man? It’s disgusting.”

“It wasn’t his finest moment, I grant you. But it’s not typical of him, so you should talk to him when he calms down.”

“No. He can apologise, but I don’t know if I could ever trust him at my side again on the job.”

Aramis grimaced, and Athos shook his head. “You can’t let this affect your job or your career. Let me talk to him. Don’t make any hasty decisions about transfers.”

“Okay. But right now, I just want to be with Athos, and you, and try and forget about Porthos at least for today.”

“Sounds like a good idea.”

Aramis moved to the couch and sat on the other side of Athos, offering his own comfort as a friend. He was sure Porthos felt rotten right about now, but he found it hard to sympathise, seeing the effect on Athos. There were times Aramis had _wanted_ to smack Athos upside for being a pompous, ill-tempered twat, but he couldn’t understand why his falling for a lovely guy like d’Artagnan would drive anyone to that kind of anger. The only explanation that came to mind was that Porthos wanted d’Artagnan for himself, but Aramis knew that wasn’t the case.

When they had all eaten breakfast, Aramis cleared up, and came back to the living room. “It’s a lovely day. Perhaps a walk? Or I can go, if you’ve changed your mind about me hanging around.”

“A walk sounds good,” d’Artagnan said, squeezing Athos’s hand. “How about you, love?”

“Yes, it does.”

Aramis looked at Athos smiling sadly at d’Artagnan, and knew this was no passing fancy for either of them. “Then let’s do that.”

Aramis and d’Artagnan flanked Athos as they walked, and with the double dose of attention and bodily contact, Athos’s mood lifted. He held d’Artagnan’s hand, answered when spoken to, and Porthos wasn’t mentioned at all.

After lunch, Aramis insisted that they needed to have time to themselves. “You probably want to talk. I encourage you to cuddle and make love too.”

D’Artagnan flushed. “Aramis....”

Athos shook his head. “No point in chiding him, Charles. Aramis is as incorrigible as he is kind.”

Aramis hugged him for that. “I’ll come home as soon as you ask,” he murmured against Athos’s ear. “Have fun. You deserve it.”

He hugged d’Artagnan too. “Just enjoy yourselves. Call me if you need me. I’ll see you tonight.”

He walked away, and hoped the two of them would have a good afternoon. But now he had to decide what to do about Porthos. He wouldn't be working today, because he and Aramis had planned to spend the day and night together. Had he just headed home? Or had he gone to one of the friends Aramis hadn’t yet met?

He sent a text. _Call me if you want to talk._

He didn’t expect an answer, so wasn’t surprised not to receive one. But two hours later, he had a text from someone called ‘Flea’.

_I’m a friend of Porthos. Can we meet? Call me, please_

He did so. “This is Aramis.”

“Oh, Aramis, thank you. I need to talk to you about Porthos, and what happened this morning. He’s very upset.”

“He’s not the only one, you realise.”

“I can imagine. Where are you?”

He told her where he was and she nominated a bar not far from there. “Twenty minutes?”

“Okay.”

He took a seat inside—the weather was too good to have a chance of sitting outside—and waited. Right on time, a young woman with blond hair in braids and feathers came in, spotted him and made a beeline directly to him. “Aramis?”

“At your service. You’re Flea?”

She sat down. “Yeah. What are you having?” The waiter took their order for white wine and went off to fetch it. “Porthos has told me so much about you.”

“He hasn’t mentioned you, I’m sorry to say.”

“Ah. I’m his foster sister. His and Charon’s. My parents took them in for three years, and though they moved on, we stayed close friends. I’ve known him since he was ten.”

“Right. So he called you this morning?”

“He came around.” She paused while the waiter gave them their drinks. “He’s a mess.”

“Did he tell you what happened?”

“Yes. I’d like you to tell me though. He wasn’t making a lot of sense.”

Aramis scratched his head. “It didn’t make a lot of sense watching it. He discovered d’Artagnan has spent the night with Athos, and went ballistic. He tried to punch Athos, so d’Artagnan and I made him leave. I knew he was worried about Athos and d’Artagnan hooking up, but this, I wasn’t expecting at all. Not actual violence.”

Flea took a gulp of wine. “That’s not really like him. He’s a big guy so he learned early on to control his temper.”

“So what made this different?”

“Charon. It’s always about Charon.”

“Porthos said he felt kinship with d’Artagnan because they bonded over their grief. But his reaction is still out of proportion to what happened.”

Flea grimaced. “‘Kinship’ is putting it mildly. Porthos kind of adopted d’Artagnan, the way he did with Charon, the way he did with other kids. And the one thing you do not do with Porthos is threaten the safety of his family. That’s the only time he’ll use violence. He promised to protect Charon, and he failed, as he sees it.”

“But Athos wasn’t threatening anyone. He’s got some problems, but d’Artagnan knows about them, and Athos is as wary as any of us about hurting the kid.”

“That’s my fault. And Charon’s too. We both got mixed up with people who were bad for us, and Porthos had to step in more than once to stop us fucking up our lives for them. He thinks d’Artagnan’s about to do the same thing with your Athos.”

“Ridiculous.”

She shrugged. “So you say. But it’s really that simple. You triggered it too when you met him. He spent two hours talking to me after your first date, angry at how such a cute guy could be so messed up by his shitty friend.”

“Athos is not a shitty friend. Not all the time, and certainly not now. He went through a horrible patch and he’s coming through it. Porthos _knows_ this. He’s been there while it’s happening. If he’s going to use me as an excuse, he can forget it. And us.” Aramis took a big swallow of wine to cover his anger. “It’s been so hard for Athos, physically and mentally. Did Porthos even tell you what Athos went through?”

Flea turned her big blue eyes on him and asked earnestly, “Why don’t _you_ tell me?”

So Aramis did, talking about how Athos got the news about his wife’s and his brother’s deaths and had to fly back to Paris to deal with that. How he’d arrived back on base still stunned and distraught over that, and just days afterwards, had been caught in the IED. How he and Aramis had been horribly injured, had to try and radio for help and dress their own wounds, while their friends and comrades lay dead, in pieces, around them. Then coming back to France for treatment and rehab, and in Athos’s case, being taunted and shamed by his own family, while his injuries were still healing. “I could have gone home to Spain to recover, but there was no way I could leave him like that.”

Flea’s expression told Aramis that Porthos hadn’t told her more than a fraction of this. “Oh my god. You told him all this?”

“Yes. But he wasn’t really interested in Athos’s side of things. It was all about me, and then d’Artagnan. He seems to be incapable of seeing Athos as a person.”

“Maybe because Athos was an officer?”

“So was I. No, Porthos convinced himself Athos was abusive right at the start and nothing can convince him otherwise. Uh, one of your boyfriends wasn’t like that, I suppose?”

“Two, actually. One was physically and mentally abusive, the other was just a manipulative shit. Porthos is pretty sensitive about that. He had some awful experiences with foster parents before he came to live with us.”

Aramis nodded. “That explains a lot. But it also says to me that Porthos isn’t safe to be around Athos, and I’m not sure I can be with someone who I don’t trust around my best friend. He _destroyed_ Athos with what he said this morning. Athos already hates himself for so many things, and Porthos dumped more on him.”

“If you feel that way, then I can’t blame you for leaving him. But how much do you care for Porthos?”

“A lot. I would call it love but I’m so angry at him right now, I don’t even _like_ him. Do you understand?”

She pursed her lips. “I do. I do love Porthos, but I can see why he’s making it impossible for you to get closer. The irony is that he needs love and care as much as your friend does, but he puts up a better front.”

“Athos is seeing a psychologist. Maybe Porthos should do the same.”

She sighed and shook her head. “He’ll never admit he needs that kind of help. He’s a tough guy, he tells himself. Tough guys don’t have mental problems, he thinks. Such a load of shit.”

“Maybe if he realises that he’s lost d’Artagnan as a friend, and that d’Artagnan doesn’t even want to work with him any more, he might think about getting help. Can you talk to him?”

“I can try. What about you?”

“What do you want me to do?”

She put a dainty hand on his. “Give him another chance. Please.”

“Not until he apologises to Athos in person, properly.”

“I don’t think that’ll happen.”

Aramis sat back and folded his arms. “Then that’s that.”

“So you write off your lover over one mistake?”

“He tried to punch Athos in the face, Flea. A man who had done him no harm, committed no crime or even a sin, in his own house. That’s not a mistake, that’s a criminal act!”

She met his eyes steadily. “Your choice. I believe he’s better than that.”

“I thought so, but he proved me wrong.”

“If you say so.” She stood. “Thanks for meeting me. I wish I could have pleaded his case better.”

“You did your best. If he wants to talk, he has my number, and he knows where I live. It’s all up to him now.”

“Okay. That’s fair.”

She walked off. Aramis put his head in his hands. He was so tired of all this. He had been fighting his battles, Athos’s battles, Porthos’s battles for so long, and all he wanted to do was put the past behind him and get on with his course and a new career. He’d hoped Porthos might mean a fresh start. Not so much, as it turned out.

He went home, not sure when to expect Athos and d’Artagnan, and napped on the couch. They woke him an hour later, coming home.

“Oh, sorry, didn’t mean to wake you,” d’Artagnan said when he spotted Aramis.

Aramis yawned and sat up. “No, it’s fine.” He searched Athos’s face. “How do you feel?”

“Better. Thank you.”

D’Artagnan put his arm around Athos’s waist. “We had a great time, looking at gardens. We bought ingredients for supper, and chocolate cake for now.”

Aramis grinned, though he felt a little sad that Porthos would miss out on his favourite treat. “Never say no to cake. Shall I make tea?”

“You stay there,” Athos said. “I’ll make it. Charles, you can help.”

Aramis watched the two of them in the kitchen, nudging each other, smiling at each other. They were adorable. Was this Athos finally moving past his wife and his unbearable sorrow? Could d’Artagnan being the rock Athos needed, and could Athos be the companion d’Artagnan wanted? Aramis truly hoped so.

D’Artagnan was hungry, and accounted for nearly half of the cake on his own. At Athos’s smile, and Aramis’s grin, he hung his head. “I’m starving. We walked so far this afternoon.”

“Nonsense,” Aramis said. “I’m sure it was all the extra exercise last night.”

D’Artagnan looked at Aramis, then went red. Athos smacked Aramis’s hand. “Don’t tease.”

“I certainly shall. How often do I get the chance?”

“Don’t tease or he won’t cook. How’s that for a threat?”

“Credible, and sufficient.” Aramis reached for another piece of cake, but stopped when he heard the intercom buzzer for the building’s front door. He went over and picked up the receiver. “Hello?”

“It’s me.”

Aramis sucked in a breath. “It’s for me,” he said. “Be back shortly.”

Porthos was on the pavement, shuffling his feet. “Do you expect me to let you in?” Aramis asked.

“I was hoping. I came to say sorry.” Porthos had been crying, and hard. His eyes were red and puffy, his voice sounded clogged.

“To me or to him?”

“To both of you.”

“Do you really mean it, Porthos? Or are you just here because Flea told you to come over?”

Porthos looked up. “She didn’t tell me to do nothing. She just said you told her I could talk to you if I wanted. Figured I needed to apologise first.”

Aramis took his hand. “Are you sure? D’Artagnan’s here as well. I should warn you, he’s _very_ angry with you.”

“Yeah, thought so. Let’s go.”

Aramis opened the apartment door, ready to throw Porthos out at the first sign of aggression. He signalled to him to wait while he spoke to d’Artagnan and Athos. “Guys, Porthos has something he wants to say to you. If you don’t want to listen, I’ll ask him to leave. Your choice.”

D’Artagnan looked at Athos, frowning. Athos climbed to his feet. “Let him in.” D’Artagnan stood up beside him, and held his hand, standing a little in front of him, his expression set hard.

Aramis let Porthos in with a whispered, “Behave.”

Porthos walked over to the others, but kept his distance. “Guys, I apologise for what I said and did this morning. It was out of order. Athos, I shouldn’t have tried to punch you, or insult you. d’Artagnan, I shouldn’t have criticised your choices. And Aramis, I’m sorry I put you in the position of making me leave.”

Aramis exhaled. That was all he could have asked for. How would the others react?

Athos stepped forward, holding out his hand. “That was honourably done, Porthos. I accept your apology and welcome you back to our home.”

Porthos hesitated, then took Athos’s hand. They shook firmly, then Athos stepped away, glancing at d’Artagnan who’d folded his arms and looked a lot less open to Porthos’s approach than Athos had done. “You’ve made it very difficult to work with you, Porthos. How can I trust you to keep yourself under control any more?”

“I guess that’s up to you, d’Artagnan. I got myself all worked up because I thought you was making a big mistake, and I was trying to stop you doing that.”

“And now?”

Porthos drew in a breath. Aramis moved to his side to offer moral support. “Maybe I need to think things through a bit more. I won’t say another word about the two of you. I can promise you that.”

“You tried to _punch_ him.”

“I know. That was wrong of me.”

“Charles.” Athos turned to d’Artagnan. “Porthos had a long career as a soldier. Soldiers have to keep control over themselves or they’re discharged pretty fast. My impression is that this was a one-off, not a habit of abuse.” Aramis could have kissed him for that. “I’m very grateful to him for all he’s done for you, helping you get over your father and Constance. You could put that in the balance against this one incident.”

D’Artagnan stared at Athos, and they had a silent conversation with their eyes. D’Artagnan turned to Porthos. “All right. I accept your apology on Athos’s recommendation, but this is your only chance. Attempt to strike any one of us again, and I’ll arrest you.”

Porthos nodded. “Fair enough. Okay, well, I’ll go. Um, can I call you this week, Aramis?”

Aramis started to answer but Athos cut him off. “Please stay, Porthos. Stay for dinner. Did you eat lunch?” Porthos shook his head. “Then why not have some of this cake, and a cup of tea. Aramis, would you like to refresh the pot and find another place?”

“Are you sure?” Porthos said.

“Plenty of cake left, despite d’Artagnan’s best efforts to inhale it earlier,” Aramis said. “Have a seat.” He kissed Porthos on the cheek and whispered, “Time to be brave, darling.”

He busied himself boiling water and sorting out the teapot. When he returned to the living room, he found Porthos sitting stiffly on the other couch, across from d’Artagnan and Athos who looked at him like a grenade with the pin missing. “Here we are. Athos, do you want to be mother? D’Artagnan, could you cut the cake? I’d like another slice, if you don’t mind.”

The small courtesies involved in dishing out the food and drink at least stopped them all staring at each other, but didn’t get a conversation going. Aramis decided to take charge. “I met Porthos’s foster sister, Flea, this morning. A very impressive young woman, I thought.”

“Flea?” Athos said. “That’s an unusual name.”

“‘S Felicity, really,” Porthos said. “I don’t know anyone who calls her that, though.”

“What does she do?” Aramis asked.

“Artist. A good one. Works with a collective, and they got a big contract with one of the porcelain company just recently to create designs for their winter collection. She’s dyslexic, so she’s always poured everything into her art.”

“My youngest sister’s dyslexic, only with numbers,” d’Artagnan said.

“They call that dyscalculia,” Porthos said.

Aramis picked up his tea cup. “I believe a lot of artistic people have one or the other. Must make daily life difficult.”

“They learn to work with it. Like you and your hand,” Porthos said.

“Or my leg,” Athos said. “Aramis, d’Artagnan’s fencing club is putting out an invitation to amputees to come along and join up. I thought we could target the vets in particular. I don’t care for the idea of wheelchair fencing since I don’t use one, and I doubt I’m the only one.”

“That’s an excellent idea. You should rope in Sylvie, get her to spread the word.”

“We’ve got amputee officers on the force. Could put the word out there,” Porthos said. “Or d’Artagnan could.”

D’Artagnan responded politely, “We both could.”

Slowly, cautiously, awkward minute by awkward minute, Porthos rejoined their little group. By the time they finished dinner, a casual observer would think that nothing had ever changed between them, but they would be wrong. Athos was unusually chatty, d’Artagnan unusually quiet, and Aramis kept his arm linked with Porthos’s almost every second. Porthos was polite, quiet, and miserable. Athos even suggested they watch _Iron Man 3_ , one of Porthos’s favourite movies, so Athos could make fun of it, and Porthos only said, “That’d be nice.”

So the second the movie was over, Aramis dragged Porthos to his bedroom so he could hug the life out of him. “How are you feeling?” he murmured against his ear.

“Ashamed of myself.”

“I’m sure. But I think you’ve done enough for now. Come to bed.”

Porthos stripped and huddled under the covers. “Flea’s pretty cranky with me.”

“She was worried as hell about you. But she’d be proud of you coming here tonight, and so am I.” Aramis kissed his forehead, and tucked Porthos’s head against him. “It takes a big man, a brave man, to face up to his mistakes as honestly as that.”

“I can’t believe I was so stupid. D’Artagnan’s still furious.”

“He’ll get over it, because Athos will talk him into it. They’re crazy about each other, you realise. You didn’t have a hope of breaking them up.”

Porthos nodded against Aramis’s chest. “Yeah, I can see that. Athos could have made me feel small...but he didn’t.”

“He meant what he said. He respects bravery. This is much more what he was like before...well before everything, really.”

“I guess I didn’t take the time to get to know him, like you told me to.”

“I could say I told you so, but I think you have enough to think about now.” Aramis squished up closer to him. “Want to make love?”

“Will you be angry if I say no? I’m tired.”

“Not surprised. Tomorrow will be easier.” Aramis kissed him on the top of his head. “I think I love you, you know.”

“Dunno why. I’m completely gone on you.”

Aramis held Porthos’s hand between them. “You must be crazy.”

“Bloody cheek. You never said if you accepted my apology.”

“I do, I did. But never do that again. Last and only chance.”

“Yeah, I got that. I won’t, I swear. I never break my word.”

“I’m sure you don’t.” Aramis pulled him closer, and buried his nose in Porthos’s beautiful curls. “Now go to sleep, my love. I’ll be here in the morning, and so will they. Families can survive this kind of thing, and you’re all my family now.”

_You’re all my brothers now._

**Author's Note:**

> There may be more stories in this AU 'verse :)
> 
> Comments, criticisms, corrections, and kudos craved!


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